I Laugh at Love
by PeiPei
Summary: Captain Barbossa has a lady for love and a boy for lust - and he needs them both. A frivolous story about Ritchie Brown meeting Rose O'Mallory, Captain's truelove. COMPLETED.
1. If the sea was milk

Disclaimer: "Pirates of the Caribbean" belong to Disney.  
  
Beta: Ewa. I thank you, mate, with all my heart for all your help, suggestions and encouragement.  
  
Warning: This fic is about Captain Barbossa. No Jack, Will, Elizabeth, or other good folks, they stayed home this time.  
  
A/N: This story - which is going to be pretty long - is dedicated to my friend and fellow Barbossa fan, Mint Condition, and has a prequel "Maid or not, It Suits You".  
  
I thank all my wonderful reviewers and readers. You are my treasure. Special hugs for Bren Eldrid Bera and Alteng.  
  
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I  
  
I don't want to wake up, but the morning sun is cruel to me. I've secretly hoped that all the previous day was a dream, nothing more, and I'll find myself on the soft bed, in my beatiful lover's arms, looking forward to morning cocoa and morning kiss... Alas, I am lying on the hard floor of the Captain Barbossa's cabin, half-naked under some clothes, and my body is aching like hell. I'd better get up, though, because I need something to eat - I'm nauseous from hunger.  
  
I sit up and stretch out in the bright sun warming up the floor. Oh, I was sleeping under Captain's jacket - the same jacket he wrapped around me yesterday, when his crew was going to keelhaul me, but he decided otherwise. So he cares about me a little. Then my eyes go to the scarlet dress. I was wearing it on his command, because I was to be a gift for his crew - luckily it was only the Captain who finally got me. We shared the bed that night, but only for awhile, and after we finished, he ordered me to wash myself, blow off the candles and go to sleep.  
  
"But where am I to sleep?" I asked innocently.  
  
"Ye have all the cabin to sleep," he said laughing. "Any piece of floor that pleases yer fancy."  
  
I couldn't resist a longing look at his bed. He noticed it.  
  
"Floor, Ritchie. The bed is for me and my lady, when I entertain her in my cabin. Understood? Or d'ye prefer to sleep with the crew?"  
  
"I'll sleep on the floor," I said quietly.  
  
"Good. An' put the dress off, before ye lay down."  
  
I did what he ordered, placing the dress on the chair, but I've felt suddenly cold before dawn and took the dress to cover myself up. Now I take it stealthily, and...  
  
"What are ye doin' with that cursed dress?"  
  
"Nothing, Captain. It must've fallen from the chair."  
  
He smiles, apparently in a good mood.  
  
"An' ye drapped it over yer precious self when sleepin', right?"  
  
I lower my head.  
  
"Right. Listen to me, Ritchie, this is to be yer last one. Be it lil' matter or big, ye lie to me once more an' I'll have ye killed, though it pains me much. 'Tis dangerous for me to have a liar aboard my ship. An' yer lying like breathing. Think twice before ye say anything or it'll end up sadly for ye. Understood?"  
  
"Yes, Captain."  
  
"Good. Now go to the chests there an' try to find yerself somethin' to wear. Make haste, I'm waitin' for ye."  
  
What for, I think to myself looking through chests with clothing. Why is he waiting for me? And why must he always know when I'm lying? He's kind to me, but how am I to know how is he going to react when I do something he doesn't like? He didn't hurt me; he took me without passion, but without cruelty either, still he wouldn't hesitate to kill me if I don't please him. Oh, not that I don't want to...  
  
I've managed to find a pair of breeches that aren't too loose around the waist, but there's no shirt that fits me, each one is too big, and I don't touch ones that look new. I look shyly at the Captain, while I'm trying next shirt on. The Captain has risen from the bed and is fastening his belt, not looking at me. I wonder what time can it be. Why is he putting all his clothes on? It's early, and we can start the day more pleasantly than hurrying somewhere... after all, I'm here at his orders.  
  
"What are ye lookin' at?"  
  
"Nothing... I'm trying to find a shirt."  
  
"Roll the sleeves an' bloody move on. Don't try me patience. An' tie up yer hair. Aye, like that. Hurry up."  
  
We walk out into the sun and then I stop in a sudden panic. All the crew is gathered before the cabin - over thirty pairs of eyes meet us, and everybody has this knowing, leering grin. They don't look at the Captain, of course, for he's their God, beyond their judgement; everything he does is right and justified. They look at me and I almost feel their delight - they understand I'm not going to get any special treatment here, and they're oh so eager to show me my place... or at least what they consider my place. I cast my eyes down just to calm myself, and then look stealthily at them. Smallpox, Broken Nose, Knee-Holder, Venera's Crown and Bleeding Hand, all those fellows that wanted to, well, kill me (to put it shortly), they're standing here before me, smilling and elbowing each other. Oh, joy.  
  
"Gents," the Captain says, "here be our new crew member, lil' Ritchie Brown. He's goin' to sail with us for awhile. As me cabin boy."  
  
Oh, yes, you'd all drop dead if you didn't whistle and smack now, you dirty blockheads.  
  
"Now, now, boys," the Captain continues, "look, the poor lad's blushing. Be decent an' shut up. He's to work with ye, too."  
  
What? Wait! They're going to skin me alive. At least keep me in your cabin, Captain, I beg of you! I'm not going to stay outside with this wild horde... But I can't say anything; I feel dizzy from fear. No, no, Ritchie, calm down. If he wanted you dead, he would've thrown you to them yesterday. They won't be allowed to harm you. You're his cabin boy, didn't he say that?  
  
"No harassin', an' no beatin'... unless he deserves it. An' you, Ritchie," he says turning slightly to me, "yer to work hard an' to respect elders. An' seein' that yer the youngest here, yer to obey everyone of the crew. An' if orders ye receive are contradictory, yer to obey Sharpe," he points at Broken Nose. "He's second in command here. An' if ye don't obey orders, well, ye'll have to obey cat o' nine tails. Is that understood?"  
  
I hardly believe my own ears. I'm on these men's mercy, and there is no doubt I'll taste every abuse and humiliation possible; and I'm to be their drudge that can't even defend himself? Hell, no. If this is to be the next test, then I will pass it, no matter how high my expense will be.  
  
The Captain is looking at me with a shade of a smile, waiting for my answer.  
  
"Yes," I say dryly.  
  
"Good," he says. "Now go to the galleys an' bring me my breakfast. Ye may have yours after. An' then Sharpe will show you yer part o' work. Move on."  
  
Uhm, I'm a maid again, I think sourly, standing with Captain's bottle of table wine behind his chair. But what am I to do? I'm trapped perfectly on La Aranha here, and I don't even have a place to go. I don't know anyone in the New World, and if the survivors of La Joya del Mar's crew recognize me anywhere, I'm doomed. My lover's husband, don Diego de Ayala, is the owner of a huge estate on Santo Domingo, and if he gets me in his hands, I'm dead. I don't have any means to go back to Europe, and nobody is waiting there for me either. I'm alone anyway. I have nobody but the Captain to lean on. And he's not very eager to defend me or to protect me for that matter. I'm just a burden to him, perhaps. He buggered me once and that's all - maybe it was nothing more than confirming his power over me. He has his lady for love, I'm a whore in his eyes - he met me when I was a whore and I'm to stay a whore to him; not a very desirable one at that. And as a pirate, I don't have any value either - I've never killed a man, I'm not very strong, and I don't know what a life at sea is like. Yesterday's question comes to me again: how am I to prove myself worthy in this man's eyes?  
  
I look at him discreetly. He's eating, and as far as I can see his manners are perfect, his moves measured and elegant, neither hasty nor slow, and I realize that he must be a nobleman - maybe of even higher standing than senor Ayala. But then another thing dawns upon me - he has to be fed up with all those dumb folks from his crew. I'd bet only few of them can read, nobody can behave as his equal - he's rarely letting them in his cabin. Oh, so there is a chance for me.  
  
But he doesn't show any interest in me, he's behaving as if he were alone. No questions who I am or where I come from, or what's my upbringing, or how I made acquaintance with the Ayalas - nothing. He's not noticing me.  
  
"Roll up yer sleeves, when yer pouring me wine, yer little lout," he sighs. "I don't want 'em in my drink."  
  
Oh, so he is noticing me after all! I give him a grateful glance.  
  
"Don't look at me, watch yer sleeves!... Ah, yer useless. Get off to work."  
  
Work?... I feel utterly miserable, but there's nothing to do, and I go out of the cabin. Luckily all the crew is at their posts already. I must find Broken Nose... Sharpe, I mean.  
  
But he finds me first, and without any word shoves me to the bucket and something between a brush and a clout. It seems that they forgot about feeding me; but I'm determined not to ask them for anything. I'll see if I can steal something to eat later.  
  
The next hours seem endless to me. I'm cleaning the deck in the full sunshine, and after a short time my hunger is foreshadowed by desperate thirst. My sweatdrops land around my knees, my arms are fainting, and my vision becomes dull. Some of the crew are hanging around, pretending that they're working too, but all they do is trying to push me and make fun of me. I don't care for them now; I want to drink something.  
  
A man is crouching before me. Oh, it's Bleeding Hand. I eye him suspiciously, but he says with a trace of sympathy in his crude voice:  
  
"Yer workin' handsomely, lad. Should drink somethin' or ye faint. Here," and he hands me over a cup... a cup of water.  
  
I thank him with all the gratitude my eyes can express and grab the cup - but before I touch the liquid I know it's a nasty trick, and I drop the cup, shedding the sea water over Bleeding Hand's legs.  
  
"Ah, ye dirty louse, you," he yells and raises his hand to hit me - but is stopped by Smallpox.  
  
"Wait, matey," he says in mockingly amiable tone, "what are ye doin'? Have mercy o'er yerself! Yer not goin' to mar our Captain's little fuck, are ye?"  
  
"An' why not? He still has yesterday's bruises, mate. One more or less, nobody's goin' to complain. He won't be droppin' things next time."  
  
"Nah, there'll be fresh bruises there. Or wait, jus' don't hit this pretty face an' ev'rythin's alright."  
  
"Oy, people," says a tall fellow with a blond beard, "me thinks ye can do what ye want. Seems the Captain doesn't fancy him so much. He's thrown him away like that the next mornin', right?"  
  
I'll have my repay, you'll see, I think helplessly, while pretending that I've got back to work. I can't move anymore, I just have to drink some water and rest in a shadowy place. I hate work like this. I've run away from a life of labor and I'm not going back, damn! And there's nowhere to hide, and all these stinkers are laughing at me. But first of all, I have to...  
  
Somebody grabs my right arm and brings me to my feet. It's Broken Nose.  
  
"Yer to bring Captain's meal," he says. "An' here's water. No, don't ye worry, it's a good water. Now drink an' be off."  
  
I don't know what time of the day it is, I'm sleepy and weak from the lack of food, and the smell of the Captain's meal is annoying me to tears, but I don't even have a chance to sneak a piece of bread from his table - I know that the weariness has slowed my reactions, and the Captain would notice quickly if I were attempting to steal anything. So the only thing I can do is to doze off behind his chair, and, well, to watch my cursed sleeves - they are so dirty now that the Captain would shoot me if they touched his drink, probably.  
  
"How's yer work, Ritchie?" he asks all of a sudden, and I jump off as if slapped.  
  
"My... my work? Oh, good," I answer calmly.  
  
He smiles and turns around to see my face.  
  
"Is it? I'm glad t'hear that. An' how's the crew treatin' ye, I wonder?" He narrows his green eyes.  
  
"Pretty damn well," I murmur under my breath.  
  
"What did you say?"  
  
"I said they're treating me well, Captain," I say in my clearest voice.  
  
"Very well, then. Go back to work," he says in his amused tone.  
  
Or drown yourself, I think stepping out of the cabin. He didn't order me to take the dishes back to the galleys, and I saw he's left some of his food! I feel a sudden wave of self-pity inside when I'm taking again the brush... or whatever the cursed thing is. Is he going to let me starve to death or what?  
  
"Here," somebody says slipping a wooden bowl into my hand. Oh. What's this, I wonder, sniffing the grey mud in it. God, it stinks, I'm not going to eat this; they probably pissed in it.  
  
The rest of the day passes in relative peace for me, if I'm not to count innumerable dirty jokes and innuendos, almost sung behind my back. They are making fun of my every move, guessing what the Captain must have done to me today, that I'm so slow at work. I'm polishing the cursed deck with my teeth clenched, and swear to myself to get even, be it the last thing I will do. The rage slowly boiling inside me gives me strength to continue the work, or else I'd fall asleep right among them.  
  
Then the merciful evening comes, and I'm send by Broke... Sharpe to Captain's cabin. I barely can walk, and all I want now is to sleep, but when the Captain orders me to light the candles on the table, my eyes fall on the leftovers on the plate - and my body betrays me, my stomach groaning suddenly like a damaged organ in an empty church. I feel tears of humiliation threatening to burst out.  
  
The Captain laughs.  
  
"Are ye that hungry?"  
  
"N..." I say, then hesitate. "Yes." And I turn away from the table, partly to light candles on the smaller table under the window, partly to hide my pathetic despair. He's not going to pity me anyway, and I don't need anything from him. I just want to sleep, so that I can simply forget all this.  
  
"Come here, Ritchie." He points to the chair next to himself. "Sit an' eat, if ye like."  
  
I can't believe that - he's allowing me to sit with him! Why?! I'm all dirty and, after all, I'm only his... well, I don't really know...  
  
"Don't look at me. Eat. Slowly, or ye throw up, stupid. Yer supposed to eat what the crew eats, ye know that?"  
  
"Uhm," I say, then go back to eating.  
  
"Next time ye throw yer food overboard, yer goin' three days without eatin', understood?"  
  
"Yes," I say, "but Captain..."  
  
And then I stop. What am I going to tell him? "They hate me and I suspect them of pissing in my meal"? He's not my mother, and I don't even know what a mother would do in this case. Ah, but I'm full now and I'll think about it later...  
  
"An' what d'ye think yer doing now?"  
  
He pushes me away, I almost lose my balance, although I'm still sitting in the chair.  
  
"My table isn't a place yer allowed to sleep!" he yells at me. "An' yer still on duty, ye lazy brat! Take those dishes to the galleys, or I'll have ye scrub the deck all night. Now!"  
  
What I am to do with this man? He allows me to eat at his table, then he's roaring at me, because I've closed my eyes for a moment... and what did his gaze mean, when he was looking at me? It must've been the despise for me, because I was devouring the food as if I were starving for ages. Oh... he's a nobleman after all, he wouldn't behave like that even under the pain of death.  
  
When I'm back in his cabin, he's looking out the window, and the fresh air is filling the room. I start blowing off the candles, according to his orders, and when I reach for the candlestick near him, he suddenly grabs my wrists and tells me to turn around.  
  
I'm deadly tired, but his touch is the gratification in itself and I find myself pressing against him - only to be reminded that I'm not allowed to reach for my satisfaction. I'm not allowed to initiate anything; so be it. I begin to unbutton my shirt, but he stops me. Ah, it's not allowed either. Or rather, it's not needed. He's not going to caress me, he just wants to come in me - because, well, I'm something better than his own hand. He doesn't want to think of me more than necessary, and he expects of me that I'll adjust to his demands; I've only to slid down my breeches, then stand on my toes, for I'm much shorter than him; he steadies me with his hands on my hips, and we're ready. It's a short, merciless tryst - were it without oil, I'd be screaming with pain - but it's still an unexplainable delight to me. I'm burning for this man, can't he see it? I'm trying to look at him, but he doesn't want me to; I'm trying to lean back against him, he's shoving me off lightly, but impatiently. I don't insist.  
  
Then he goes away to his bed, and I lie down under the chests, wondering what the next day will be - but my thoughts are interrupted by heavy sleep at the point I don't even know.  
  
And the next days get worse and worse. I'm falling off my feet from exhaustion and hunger. I have to scrub the deck and handrails, wash the dishes, clean Captain's cabin and warm his bed - not literally, alas. He forbids me even to sit on his bed. I'm not his love, I'm not his favourite, I'm just an outlet for his lust. In fact, he's nicer to me when I'm pouring him wine than when I'm bending over for him.  
  
I don't know what the crew thinks about Captain's relations with me, but they are treating me with more aversion and contempt every day. Maybe it's my lack of reaction that is to blame, because my silence and obedience only irritates them more, but I'm too tired to do anything. They spit openly when they see me, I've got boiled rats in my food (if not for Captain's leftovers that I now don't hesitate to steal, I'd be dying already), and I've got slapped, kicked and punched more than once.  
  
And today, when I'm really worn out and got a scolding because I couldn't wake up, the tall fellow with a blond beard is going to make fun of me. He's just eaten his breakfast, put his big silver spoon into his boots, next to the knife, and he's walking around me in circles, winking at his chums seated on the railing. He's annoying me to no end, but I'm still waiting. I swear, I can't stand this anymore. I may not survive to the nearest port. Oh well, let's put an end to it. Today. Now.  
  
The stupid bloke is still walking around me, and his circles are smaller and smaller. I raise my head and stop scrubbing the deck.  
  
"Hey, mate," I say, "stop it. You're bloody disturbing me."  
  
The audience chuckles in blissful anticipation, and he raises his brows.  
  
"Did'ya say sumtin'?"  
  
"I said you're disturbing me. I'm working here."  
  
"Awwww, the little princess has spoken, folks! Yer workin', ye say? An' I am takin' my everyday walk here in yer lil' garden, princess."  
  
I sigh to calm myself. I need to be precise soon.  
  
"I'm warning you, mate. Really. Hear my words."  
  
"Oh, but princess, I'd risk me life to look at yer pretty ass once more," he says, circling me very slowly and very closely. Then he steps with all his weight on my left hand. And then, with my right hand, I snatch the knife from his boot and pin his right leg to the deck with all my might.  
  
Now there's such a pandemonium around us that I hardly can hear anything, except Blond Beard's howlings. His mateys rush to us, somebody runs away screaming. I'm proud of myself, he's bleeding like a pig, blood is flowing from his enormous boot. But before I manage to stand up, several hands seize me and try to pull the knife out of my grasp. I'm holding it convulsively, though, and they can't take it, until the quartermaster - Sharpe alias Broken Nose - throws me on my knees, presses me down, grabs my right hand and slams it repeatedly upon the deck, so that I must open it.  
  
All the crew is gathered around us, Blond Beard, now silent and exhausted, is sitting and gazing at me dully, and Venera's Crown is bandaging him. I'm calming down in Sharpe's big hands, but there's something that startles me - there's silence now. Nobody is shouting at me, nobody is demanding my death, nobody wants to keelhaul me as before. I'm trying to look around, but can't see past Sharpe's broad shoulders.  
  
"Capt'n," says Smallpox with strangely trembling voice, "Bucky's hurt, he can't stand... um..."  
  
"I can see that," I hear Captain's voice. "Did he step on some nail or what, yer dumbhead? Tell everythin' as it was."  
  
"Ekhm, Capt'n, it's that he was walkin', an'... he..."  
  
"Captain, it's that little sneaky bastard, he stabb'd me!" wails Blond Beard, as if he suddenly got his voice back, only much more pitiful. "He stabb'd me with me own knife! I won't be standin' for weeks!"  
  
"Shut up," says Captain coldly, and Blond Beard shuts up momentarily. "D'ye know what yer sayin'? D'ye have any sense of honour, ye pathetic maggot? Lil' Ritchie stabbed you with yer own knife! Did'ye present it to him on a silver tray or what?"  
  
Oh, they are laughing at him. Good.  
  
"Capt'n, sir," says Smallpox, "he was, um, messin' up with Ritchie. The lad was workin', an' Bucky was walkin' around him, an' then he, um, stepp'd on his hand, an' he had a knife in his boot, so... Am I right, mateys?"  
  
"Aye, 'twas right like ye say!"  
  
"The boy was jus' doin' his work."  
  
"Told ya it'll end up badly!"  
  
"'Twas bit too hard fer the lad, I says."  
  
"You stabbed him, because he was pesterin' you, Ritchie?' Captain asks.  
  
"Yes," I say. "I've warned him. And I've stabbed him only once, because Sharpe here took my knife away."  
  
"An' what does it mean, pray tell us?"  
  
"It means I'd like to..." and I shut up. I'm not going to say too much, damn.  
  
"You'd like to kill him? Is that so?"  
  
I'm silent.  
  
"Have you ever killed a man, Ritchie?"  
  
"No, I haven't, Captain," I say, "but I can and I will, if you want me to."  
  
He looks at me with a long, thoughtful glance, and answers to his own thoughts with a short smile. Then he turns to the crew.  
  
"Gents," he says, "speak up. Who's guilty here?"  
  
I hear my name and Blond Beard's name shouted alike, and the Captain silences them.  
  
"Bucky's a worthy man, an' he won't be able to work for many days to come. Yet it's his fault, because he provoked the lad - an' why d'ye think I said there's to be no harassin' him? 'Twas fer yer own safety, ye poor moron, 'cause the boy's no cryin' sissy, thank God."  
  
Oh, are they all nodding now? Had I known that all I had to do was to stab somebody...  
  
"Seein' that both of them are guilty, I therefore say that both of them are to be punished. An' although it is a rare thing on our ship, but so is the quarrel that ends up in drawing blood, both of them are to get dozen of lashes each."  
  
Dozen of lashes? Oh, it's nothing; I've been beaten more than that. Aha!... But why is that poor bastard almost crying?  
  
"Fer Christ's sake, Capt'n, I've got my share already... my foot..."  
  
"Ye'll be thinkin' of yer back more than of yer foot, Bucky, that'll do ye good. Ye'll get proper care fer yer injuries, don't worry." And he's turning away from him.  
  
"I can take twice that, if I only could get your left foot too, you crying chicken," I murmur to Blond Beard.  
  
And the Captain hears me - he turns out to look at me. It's a suddenly cold, grave look. I feel my blood freeze.  
  
"There is to be no further animosity over this. It is finished an' never to be evoked again." He pauses. "Sharpe - there's a lil' alteration. Two dozens for Ritchie. For his big mouth."  
  
"Aye, Capt'n."  
  
Oh no, what have I done? Why do I have to get twice the punishment that stupid Bucky is getting? And why the Captain is always treating me like that - can't he set up his mind and get me killed once and for all, instead of putting me through one test after another? Well, I'll show him I can endure anything. Two dozens, it's not a big deal.  
  
Or is it? The crew is silent and they are looking at the Captain with sudden fright and confusion. Are they astonished, because he's not sparing his "little fuck"? Or is there another reason beyond those wide opened eyes and mouths?  
  
"Look, Ritchie," whispers Smallpox in my right ear, "breathe shallow, d'ye hear me? An' watch out fer yer tongue, don't bite it off, mind. Yer to be first."  
  
I don't understand him. It seems he's to help me to, well, take off my shirt, and he's to tie me to the cannon. To tie me? Is it necessary? I'm not going to run away!  
  
"It's nothing," I say. "I've been beaten in my life. 'Tis only two do..."  
  
"Shhh, yer stupid or what? Ever tasted a cat o' nine tails?"  
  
"No, but... and you don't have to tie me up, really..."  
  
"Shut up an' listen, ye dumbhead. The cat has nine tails, each's two feet long an' one inch wide. Were ye jus' standin' like this, ye'd be knocked down by the first blow. Ye see? One dozen o'our cat is like fifty lashes o'the military cat, an' yer to get two dozens. Sharpe'll to be changed after the first, an' then it may be me. I'll try..."  
  
I widen my eyes looking at him. Hundred lashes, what a trifle! And then I look at the Captain - shortly and slyly. I don't want him to think I'm going to ask for his mercy. But he's not looking at me, he's looking somewhere above us, and I notice to my dismay that he seems a little bit nervous. He wants it to end. But he's irritated all the same. I take my eyes off him, look at Sharpe approaching, and then at Blond Beard, who's grinning widely, happy that I'm going to suffer more than him. I forget about the Captain, I feel my burning, warm anger building up inside me again... and there comes the first blow.  
  
Smallpox was right - were I not tied up, I'd be lying on the deck already. I'm pretty weak after all those days of working and nearly starving and there are only ropes that I'm holding on now. I feel blood in my mouth - I've bit my lip. I remember what Smallpox was saying about not biting my tongue... but it's impossible to think of anything than the pain now. And it's coming from the most unexpected parts of my body - I don't feel it as much on my back as I'm feeling it in my stomach or I don't bloody know where - somewhere deep inside myself. And then my lungs feel like bursting up, I can't breathe - breathe SHALLOW, Ritchie - I don't know if I'm making any noises at all... wait, what's that? Yes, it's me, it's my own voice. Aw, what a shame... so I'm trying to muffle my cries, and I feel more blood, this time on my tongue instead. What a mess... I've got a good advice and couldn't use it.  
  
I don't know when it's all over. I feel dizzy like hell, I feel... um... drunk, yes, that's the word. And I'm shivering... I'm very, very cold.  
  
Smallpox - why the hell is he so gentle with me now - bows over me and asks:  
  
"D'ye hear me, Ritchie?"  
  
"Yeah... lis-ten, why am I so cold?"  
  
"He'll be jus' alright, Capt'n. Says he's cold, but 'tis a lil' loss o'blood."  
  
"Good." I feel a real joy in Captain's voice, and that little part of me that is still sober and healthy starts to wonder, very, very slowly, what does this joy mean... I look up a little. He's staying not so far from my head. Ooh, nice boots... must be cordovan or something.  
  
"Don't use sea water on his back, ye hear me. An' the same with Bucky."  
  
"What are we t'take, then, sir?"  
  
"We have Joya del Mar's supplies still. Use the salt."  
  
Oh no, shit, impossible. I won't allow them to rub salt in my back!  
  
"L-listen, mate, I protest," I shout, or rather try to shout. "Please, not the salt! I can do... I can r-recover without any accursed bloody salt!..."  
  
"Shut up," says Smallpox. ""Tis be the Captain's orders, an' he's gone to his cabin. Yer damn tough, Ritchie, ye didn't faint. He's impressed. Now ye have to rest an' ye'll be nice an' well in no time."  
  
"Wait, m-matey... why is he impressed?"  
  
"He wanted to see how ye take it. Ye know, our Captain, he's no ordinary fellow. He hadn't been flogged in his life, but if he were, I'd bet he wouldn't plead to be spared, right? An' we all are common folk, havin' been thru things. Look at that idiot Bucky, he's pleadin' when he's goin' to be punished, 'cause he thinks he can change somethin'. An' ye took it well, no pleadin', an' yer goin' to be well. He thinks ye worthy of bein' on the pirate ship, I reckon. Now don't move, or I'll call others to hold ye."  
  
"What are you..."  
  
"Shut up," he says taking a handful of salt from The Bleeding Hand, who's grinning at me. "Ye'll have somethin' warming up to drink after this."  
  
But I close my eyes tight, although the thought of alcohol is truly heartening me up, and finally, blissfully black out.  
  
tbc 


	2. The girl in a tower

Disclaimer: "Pirates of the Caribbean" belong to Disney. The line from "Marcos de Obregon" belongs to its author Vincente Espinel. "La Serena" song doesn't belong to me either, but it's anonymous.  
  
A/N: 1) "Sepher Yetzirah" is one of the most famous Kabbalah texts, and was written about 200 B.C. 2) Pandeiro and tar are names for two kinds of frame drum (similar to a tambourine); pandeiro was played in Galicia, Portugal and Brasil, and tar in the Middle East.  
  
------------------------------  
  
II  
  
When I manage to get up, I notice that I don't know the place I was sleeping in. It's not the Captain's cabin, but a dark, long room with a very low ceiling. Nobody is here; I'm lying on a blanket. The air is thick and fusty. It's probably a place the crew is sleeping, and now everybody is at work.  
  
"What, ye get up already! Are ye alright?"  
  
It's Smallpox; he's coming to me with a cup of water in his hands, smilling broadly.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
"What? I've brought ye water..."  
  
"I must bring Captain's dinner... how many hours was I here?"  
  
"Hours? Yer lying here fer four days, matey!"  
  
I blink.  
  
"Ye've got a nasty fever an' were sleepin' all the time," he laughs. "But yer almost cured already, I can see... Want some water?"  
  
I drink it feeling ashamed like never in my life.  
  
"Were you caring for me?"  
  
"Sometimes me, sometimes Sharpe. Ye're not that hard to care for, though. Sleepin' only an' drinkin' water. Pretty strong, ye are," he smiles again sitting next to me.  
  
I sigh and scratch my head. I would never expect anybody on this ship to care for me when I were ill; I've never been much cared for, to tell the truth - and I still remember my first encounter with Sharpe and Smallpox...  
  
"Um, thank you, mate... what's your name?"  
  
"'Tis Pete."  
  
"Ah. Thank you, Pete..." and I look at him with a slight suspicion. Would he want me to thank him in that only currency that is accepted everywhere... or did he take his payment from me, when I was lying here unconscious? For I've seen worse already, and I know that nobody is tending after the sick without interest.  
  
"Why are ye lookin' at me? Our Captain told us to look after ye. He'll be glad t'see ye now," he says winking at me and patting me on the back. I hiss.  
  
"Aw, sorry, mate," he chuckles. "Still hurts? Told ye it's no trifle. Don't talk too much when the Captain's present, he doesn't like it. Ye should know when it's time to shut up. Alright, c'me with me, ye'd better wash yerself before going to the cabin."  
  
It's difficult for me to bow over the bucket of water, my back still hurts, and I'm hungry as always, but it's delightful to be able to wash, and when I go upstairs, my wet hair turns dry and curls in no time. The breeze is soft and the sun is warm, and when I look at the working men, I hear them greeting me with some sort of rough sympathy. Then I go to the galleys, take the Captain's meal, knock on his cabin's door and enter.  
  
He's sitting at the table, which is barely visible from under the maps, and doesn't raise his head. I take the chair quietly, place the tray on it and return to the door.  
  
"Close the door," I hear, so I go out, but then another orders goes after me. "No, not from the outside, stupid! Come in."  
  
I close the door and lean against it lightly, not sure if I'm to step in. I'm not going to do anything he doesn't want me to. I look at him; he seems annoyed and impatient, but then his green eyes soften a little bit and a smile twitches his mouth for a moment. He takes the maps to the table under the window and invites me to come closer. I take the tray from the chair and place it before him with my eyes downcast. The very closeness of him makes me absent-minded with joy. What's happening to me? The only treatment I get from him is harsh words, beatings and careless screwing, and yet I want to be close to him. I've slept with men several times, for money or food, or because I was forced to, but never felt anything more than fleeting sting of pleasure at best; I've slept with women because I desired them, or because they were paying me, but never valued them more than my own safety and profit. And now I've met a person to whom I'll gladly and lightly give my body and soul and eternal salvation and whatever else I have.  
  
He's laughing, it's my modest demeanour that amuses him so.  
  
"Now, now, I can see ye finally learnt how to be quiet. All ye need is a good thrashing, then. I'm glad yer well. And hungry, perhaps?"  
  
I cast him a quick look, but say nothing.  
  
"Sit down an' share my meal. Ye must be starvin', as always."  
  
I sit next to him, still unable to say anything. Why has he to say all these cruel things to me? If he despises me so, why does he allow me to sit and eat with him? And I notice that the food is fresh - it's bread, not the hard-tack, and there is even something like a pie, and fruit.  
  
"Did we land somewhere, Captain?"  
  
"Aye, we did. I've entrusted our senor Ayala and the rest of Joya del Mar to my friend; we'll be going back in some time, but now we're going to Antigua Island for a rest, and to careen our ship."  
  
I can't hide my disappointment; I've lost my first chance to see the New World! But maybe on Antigua, then... and I feel a sudden joy, because they didn't leave me on that island. I was only a burden to them, but they chose to take me with them. I look at the Captain with gratitude. He sighs.  
  
"What's wrong with you gapin' at me all the time? Eat an' be off to work."  
  
"Aye, Captain," I say obediently and grab a piece of bread. Isn't he glad that he can have me here again? And I've washed myself... maybe it's my shirt... it's dirty as hell. They probably covered me with it in night, because it's stained with blood, and the sleeves are nearly black. I was working in it and sleeping in it. Oh, yes, it must be the shirt. And maybe something else too... I catch Captain's look, and I know: it must be the way I'm eating. Well, he is always mocking me because I'm always hungry, but it can be that he's disgusted too. He is a nobleman and I'm not, and it's the table where the difference between us is easiest to notice. When he's watching me eating like that, he knows that I'm nobody he should as much as think about taking into account. So I begin to eat very, very slowly, with small bits, and very quietly...  
  
"Tell me, Ritchie," he says suddenly, "are ye really fifteen?"  
  
I raise my head at the hint of anger in his voice. His green eyes are narrowed; he stopped eating.  
  
"To tell the truth, Captain," I say cautiously, "I don't know for sure."  
  
"Explain."  
  
"It's... uhm... I've figured it out myself... from what people around me were saying. I mean... I can be sixteen... or fourteen."  
  
"Ahh. Yer father or mother ne'er told ye when ye're born?" He smiles, looking at me, but there's no smile in his eyes. "Oh, wait. Let me guess. Ye don't know yer father either. Or was he some prince with twenty castles, an' yer mother was a pretty village girl? Tell me what lie d'ye have for this occasion."  
  
I'm looking down on the pearl ornament of the altar cape. The piece of bread in my hand becomes warmer and warmer.  
  
"Oh good. No lies. Ye learnt yer lesson well. Frankly, I don't give a damn who or why sired you, so ye don't have to answer, don't worry. There are other interestin' things that I'd like t'know. Ye weren't that scared of our cat o' nine tails, an' I've seen yer back. Ye've been flogged before. What for?"  
  
"N... nothing big." Please.  
  
"I'm sure 'twas nothing big. I'm asking ye what it was."  
  
"I've been caught stealing."  
  
"Stealing what?"  
  
"Various things. Money. Food."  
  
"That's all?"  
  
"Yes," I say.  
  
He smiles, leaning back in his chair.  
  
"So yer a thief."  
  
"I've done it once or twice, but I'm not a thief."  
  
"Alright, Ritchie Brown, yer not a thief. I've forgotten - yer a whore."  
  
"I'm not."  
  
"Oh, what were you doin' in that old Spanish lady's bed, then?"  
  
I look into his eyes with a rising fury.  
  
"She was not old," I say. "She was truly beautiful. More beautiful than many young girls anywhere."  
  
"Ah, how touchin', now yer confessin' yer love for her. Tell me then, what are ye doin' with me here, on my ship? 'Twas my crew an' me who's responsible for yer lady's death, but I've ne'er seen you sheddin' a tear over her, an' yer lettin' me fuck you without a word. You've bought yer way into a New World with yer body, now yer buyin' yer life with it. Who are you if not a whore, pray tell me?"  
  
"If it would please you to call me that..."  
  
"What is this that ye said? Yer kindly allowin' me somethin', or did I overhear you jus' now?"  
  
I avert my eyes quickly.  
  
"Yer too smart for yer own good, Ritchie. Don't forget who you are. Ye can try to impress me by yer table manners or by yer innocent looks, but spare yer fatigue. Don't try yer little games with me. Is that clear?"  
  
I'm biting my lips with despair. What did I do to him? Is he blaming me for giving myself to him without any protest? But what sense was to protest, when I was in his power? Yes, I don't value myself much, but why should I? I'm not a nobleman nor a virgin with some stupid honour or virtue to protect - these are merely names for things that don't exist. I have only one thing to protect at any cost, and it's my life, nothing more. If I don't win this man's favour, I'm dead anyway, and now he's telling me that because it's him who decides, I'm not allowed to try. Oh, but I know it's him who decides... wait. Is this possible that it wasn't me that his little tirade was addressed to?...  
  
"Yes, it's very clear, Captain," I say obediently, rising from my chair. "I'll go to work, if you excuse me." Then I snatch one more piece of bread from the tray and turn away to go outside.  
  
But he catches my arm into his ironlike grip and drags me back, then throws me against the table. I wonder if he hits me, but he doesn't.  
  
"Ye have to clean the table first," he says coldly. "An' if I see you stealin' my food again..."  
  
"I won't, Captain," I say looking into his eyes and promising myself not to change my way of living in the slightest.  
  
"Good," he says. "Now get off."  
  
I get off with a not-so-heavy heart, thinking of this little conversation. The Captain is trying to convince himself that I'm not worth his attention? Then I'm on a winning side.  
  
My companions - if I can call them that - greet me rather amiably, asking about my back and what the Captain said, and tell me that we're going to reach Antigua in three, maybe four days, if the wind is good.  
  
Then I have to sit down to repair the sails. Good, I think, no more of the cursed deck polishing. I wonder about stupid Bucky's leg, and as far as I can see there are two camps now: Sharpe and his friend Pete, and most of the people are on my side, and the lesser part is Bleeding Hand and Bucky, and some other folks. But nobody is openly against me, and I feel they accepted me as one of them more or less. Smallpox - I mean Pete - has taken me under his wings and explains things to me. Nobody asks where I am from or what my life was until now, as the common etiquette of the condemned forbids it. To our own conscience we're men without past, we have a hopeful future and it's all that matters.   
  
They are working with a zeal, and seem very high-spirited. Antigua means fresh food and girls, and we have a swag to spend too.  
  
"We'll rest there maybe fer even a week," says Pete grinning. "We deserve that, we do. An' our Captain, he's goin' to meet his sweetheart at last."  
  
There are laughs and murmurs in our working group, and I can't help but raise my head for a moment. Bleeding Hand notices it.  
  
"Hah, it means that the boy's goin' to get some rest too," he says with a false sympathy. "D'ye still remember how it's to be sleepin' without bein' fucked, Ritchie?"  
  
The men laugh looking at me with an open leer. I'm pretending I didn't hear it. I can't be running around and stabbing people all the time, but Bleeding Hand has it coming for sure.  
  
"Awww, a nice lady she is," says a short and round man called Paco. "Never saw such golden hair as she has."  
  
"Wonder if she has golden hair there too," says Paco's brother, who'd look just like him if it weren't for the right eye lacking.  
  
They laugh again and there's a strained silence. I can almost feel how their thoughts grow thick and greasy.  
  
"Um, mate," I whisper to Pete, "who is that Captain's lady?"  
  
"She's an Irish, named Rose O'Mallory. He met her in the Irish colony on Montserrat and took her with 'im, an' now she's a mistress of some rich merchant. She knows things, ye see... an' it's why our Captain knows things too. It's thanks to her that we got yer pretty Joya del Mar, Ritchie."  
  
Ah, now I see. She is not only a precious ornament for Captain Barbossa. She is his deadly weapon as well. She provides information so that the Captain knows where to go and when to strike. She is indeed a double treasure to him, he has every reason to love and to value her. Oh, it's good to know that I have such powerful a rival... and she doesn't even know about me. I'm nothing compared to her, and it makes me feel relieved.  
  
But I can't help being curious about her. I'd like to see her, I want to meet her. I want to see the Captain with her. Does he change when she is close? Is he delicate and chivalrous to her, or is he ashamed to show his attraction? How long are they together? And why is the crew calling her "lady" - only because she's the Captain's lover, or because she is really something better than women who sleep with pirates?  
  
I'm lost in thoughts and don't even notice the sunset. It's time for Captain's supper, and he'll be eating with Sharpe, they have a counsel. I'm serving them half-heartedly, because all my thoughts are on the Captain's lady Rose. My eyes go unwillingly to the boxes, chests and shelves. He should have her portrait somewhere. I know he doesn't wear any medallion, he's not that sentimental. But he can have something from her: a letter, a drawing, a lock of those golden hair. I forget to pour the wine and to look after burnt candles.  
  
"Are ye payin' attention at all, ye lazy bastard?!" the Captain yells at me finally, when I knock bread off the table. "Ye can't do anything properly!"  
  
"Maybe he'd like to serve noblewomen only, Captain," says Sharpe with a broad smile.  
  
"He'd like not to do anythin' at all, shameless brat. Eatin' and sleepin', he's good at it, nothin' more. Alright, let's go outside. Yer to clean that mess, Ritchie."  
  
Oh, great. Now that these two are gone, I can look through the cabin a bit. I put the table in order, throw away bread crumbs, close the wine caraffe, and then, with a candle in one hand and an apple in the other, I go to the shelves.  
  
My first thought was to look through the drawers of the table under the window. But it's a dangerous thing. I can pretend that I'm dusting the books or something, but if the Captain catches me with his drawers open, he'd probably kill me. He can be back any moment; I'll wait with the drawers.  
  
I bit the apple (well, I'm not allowed to eat anything from the Captain's table, but the temptation was strong) and look at the shelves. They are reaching the ceiling and definitely need dusting. I can't even see the titles of the books at the highest shelves. But it's unlikely that the Captain is keeping anything connected with lady Rose there. It's a forgotten place, maybe for his former lovers. Let's see what we have on the lower shelves.  
  
I place the candle on the table nearby - I'm not that stupid to risk burning anything - and taking another apple bite I look at the imprinted golden and silver letters on the books' backs. And my heart is suddenly beating faster, because I recognize dona Ursula's books: "Lazarillo de Tormes", "Celestina"... ah, it seems so long, long ago, when we were sitting at the round table of dona Ursula's cabin, and she was correcting my accent and asking me if I ever had been to Bologna, Florence and Siena, like Guzman; and as I know Florence a little, I'm telling tales about its palazzos and streets, and ladies beautiful, but not more beautiful than dona Ursula...  
  
There are several religious books, some in Latin, some in... um... is it French? I don't know. Then I blink suddenly at a dusty volume bound in morocco. Hebrew letters! Does the Captain know Hebrew? I take the book cautiously. Oh, it's "Sepher Yetzirah". I feel shivers down my spine. It's no good sleeping in one room with magic books!  
  
"Tell me, Ritchie, what d'ye think yer doing now?"  
  
The Captain came back so quietly I didn't even hear him opening the door. I don't know what to do first: close the book or finish eating my apple. I'm trapped anyway. He's standing in the door for a short moment, then comes quickly to me. I'm clutching the cursed book like a shield - I know books are too valuable to risk destroying them. Especially magic books. I'm safe as long as I have this one in my hands.  
  
"I thought it'd be good if I dust them, Captain."  
  
"Yer dustin' them in the night? With what?"  
  
I look in his eyes desperatedly.  
  
"I thought I'll do it from now. Just..."  
  
"Why the hell would ye ever touch my books, ye lil' thief?"  
  
"I know how to care for books, Captain," I say quietly.  
  
Now he blinks and looks at me, frowning.  
  
"Can ye read?"  
  
I look at the book I'm holding.  
  
"Can ye read Hebrew, Ritchie?"  
  
"Aye, I can," I say in a barely visible whisper.  
  
"And understand what yer readin'?"  
  
"I don't know..."  
  
"Read here and tell me what does it say."  
  
"Three letters... the three mother letters A, M, Sh are the foundations of the whole... they resemble a balance with the good in one scale, the evil in the other... the oscillating tongue of the balance is between them."  
  
The Captain is looking at me and starts to laugh.  
  
"Where did'ye come from? Ye can read "Sepher Yetzirah"? Are you a Jew?"  
  
"You know I'm not," I say with an embarrassed smile. He is laughing again, because it's true - he had me in his bed and he knows I'm not circumcised. "I've learned it when I was living in Thessaloniki, but it's a long story..."  
  
"Alright, alright. Can ye read English too?"  
  
"Yes, I can."  
  
"What else?"  
  
"Latin... um... Greek. Some French, and Italian. And dona Ursula was teaching me Spanish. I've been learning it in Thessaloniki and I was speaking more Ladino than Spanish."  
  
He takes another book from the shelf and I throw the rest of my apple out of the window.  
  
"Read here, then."  
  
A Spanish book. Well, let's see... I look at the sentence he's pointing to me.  
  
"La humildad con los poderosos es el... um... fundamento de la paz... la soberbia, la destrui... destruicion de nuestro sosiego."  
  
"An' what does it mean?"  
  
"Humility in the presence of the powerful is the basis of peace... and the arrogance is the destruction of the... of our tranquility."  
  
He takes the book from me, places it on the shelf, and then looks at me amused and pleased.  
  
"Think about what ye read, Ritchie. Did I allow ye to touch my books?"  
  
"N-no, Captain, but I thought..."  
  
Now his glance is again serious and cold.  
  
"Use yer head effectively. Yer not allowed to touch anything here without my order, is that clear?"  
  
"Yes, Captain."  
  
"Good." Then he hesitates. "Ye can write too?"  
  
"Yes, I can..."  
  
"Is there anything more ye can do?"  
  
I think intensely. Oh, I have something!  
  
"I can play lute, Captain. And vihuela, and..."  
  
He sighs, looking at me, and his eyes soften.  
  
"Ye can make a decent livin', Ritchie. Ye can read, write, yer not stupid, but yer a bloody nuisance an' ye can't help getting' yerself into trouble. But yer not among ordinary folks anymore. Ye can't count on my good heart, because good heart in my trade counts as stupidity. Don't make me kill ye. It'd sadden me, but it may be necessary, if ye try me patience like that."  
  
I can see he's looking at me differently now. I can read, I know languages, he doesn't have people like me here. He will need me, I know my time will come, now it's not only my body he could use. Oh... but he can use it as well.  
  
"Alright. Blow off the candles an' go to sleep. Yer have work tomorrow. It's still three days to Antigua."  
  
What? Is he just... dismissing me like that, after four days I've spent under the deck? Doesn't he want anything from me?  
  
"Ye didn't hear me or what? Put off the candles."  
  
I cast him one long glance, but he doesn't seem - or want - to understand. I do what ordered and then go to my place under the boxes. I lie down, but then I sit again. No, he just forgot. He's thinking about Antigua, or about the ransom that the Ayala family must pay him, or about something else he was discussing with Sharpe; he just forgot about me.  
  
"Um, Captain... don't you need anything?"  
  
"What d'ye want, Ritchie?"  
  
"Nothing, just asking... I think I should go and bring some water, there's only little left... in case you need it after."  
  
"After what?"  
  
"I don't know... in the morning."  
  
"What are ye talkin' about?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Shut the hell up and sleep. Ye can bring water in the morning."  
  
No, no, no, it's not right! He doesn't want to touch me, why? Because my back isn't healed? Or because... wait. It's his lady. It must be her. He's saving himself for her. He won't waste his desire now. There's only three days left; and he'll see her and give her all his passion, strength, tenderness, longing. I don't count for him now. When she's so close, I disappear.  
  
The next day I'm trying not to look at the Captain. I feel wasted as never in my life. I'm trapped on this ship with no way to go, and I don't want to go anywhere, because the tall man with green devilish eyes, big hands with long aristocratic fingers and with cold, cruel smile has me in his power, and doesn't even need me that much. He's telling me he's going to kill me when he sees it necessary... and I don't give a damn about it. I must be ill. I must be under a spell. Doesn't he have the Kabbalah book in his cabin? Hah... but he doesn't need me anyway, why would he put a spell on me? It's me who is to blame. Aw, how lowly I've fallen, I don't even value my own life anymore.  
  
I brought the water in the morning and after the breakfast the Captain went to talk to Sharpe again, leaving dishes on the table. I start cleaning the cabin with a piece of bread in my mouth, when I see Captain's signet on the shelf. He must have removed it when washing his hands.  
  
I take it and weigh it in my hand. It's not very heavy, strange - given the size. I look at the entangled letters on it; so many of them, I'll decipher them later. But why is the signet so light? There must be a reason to it.  
  
Ah, I see. It has a lock. Something is hidden in it. Wait, it is maybe lady Rose's portrait! I open it, dizzy with curiosity, and suddenly feel panic.  
  
There's a yellow powder in it. Only a little, but it seems so much, because I know what it can be. Oh, Captain, what are you thinking about? Do you believe that death is a way of escape, when everything is lost? When you're caught and you know that it's nothing you can hope for, only the gallows or the sword?  
  
What a stupid, pathetic thought! It must be those idiotic ideals of the noble folk. It's better to die than to be disgraced, if we have nothing left, there is still honour to protect, let's die honourable death, so those who look at it will write cheap Christian books of how noble a criminal can be in his last hour. There, there, what do you know about the joy of living and the balm that is hope? "Dum spiro, spero" - I know my Latin too. No, I won't allow those false principles to kill my Captain. Even if his soul - which doesn't belong to me - is poisoned already, I won't have this cursed powder to poison his body I've already had. And I throw the yellow, powdered death out of the window without second thought.  
  
I have enough time to place the signet on the shelf again, when I hear the sound of the Captain's boots, and return to cleaning the table. He's realized that he's forgotten the signet and is going to take it back.  
  
I can feel he looks at me suspiciously, but I don't raise my head. He takes the signet from the shelf, but instead of going to Sharpe again he stops there.  
  
"Did'ye touch my signet, Ritchie?"  
  
I put the tray back on the table and look at him.  
  
"No, Captain, I didn't." I try to remember if I put the signet in the same place he left it.  
  
He narrows his eyes and opens the cursed thing.  
  
"Are ye sure ye didn't touch it?"  
  
"Why?" I ask quietly, feeling my blood freeze. Must he check everything on the spot? Now he knows I'm lying... what should I do?  
  
"There was somethin' inside an' it's empty now." He looks at me without anger, but with a strange expression I can't understand.  
  
"Maybe the lock is loose and it slipped out..." I say before I can think.   
  
He closes his eyes for a moment, takes a deep breath, smiles lightly, and then slaps me in the face so violently that I'm on the floor before I can even realize what happened. I tried to grab the table corner, but I failed and managed to catch only the altar cape; now I have all the dishes over me, plus the wine. What a mess! I can feel blood in my mouth.  
  
"Stand the hell up," he yells at me.  
  
I stand up.  
  
"Why did ye throw it away?"  
  
I'm silent, of course.  
  
"Ye heard me or not?"  
  
"Why, it's a poison... it's dangerous... and not necessary, Captain. There is always a way of escape! Everything is better than a suicide. It's stup... it's not good, Captain, why are you thinking of it?"  
  
He is looking at me with an utter dismay and starts to laugh again.  
  
"An' what makes ye think I carry the poison for meself?"  
  
I blink. What?  
  
"It's not for you?"  
  
"I have enemies, Ritchie." He smiles. "Aye, it can come in handy when there's nothing left. But it's better to use it on others. Now tell me, why d'ye think I've hit ye now?"  
  
"I don't know..."  
  
"I told ye not to lie to me, right?"  
  
"Yes, Captain."  
  
"Ye lied to me again. I should shoot you now." He smiles and takes my blooded hand from my face. "But it's a nice day. We will be tomorrow at Antigua. I'm in a good mood, so I'll give ye one more advice. D'ye know why I can say that yer lying?"  
  
Well, that's something I definitely want to know, Captain.  
  
"Because ye wide yer eyes an' immediately look more innocent than usual. Keep it in mind. Don't try it again, especially when my lady's present. She is cunning like hell. She will know I had my way with ye. And when ye run afoul me in her presence, she won't say a word in yer favour. Now clean that mess and get off to work. And yer to sleep with the crew tonight."  
  
When he goes away to talk with Sharpe, I feel somewhat anxious. I still remember my first encounters with the crew. They didn't do me harm recently, when I was sleeping with them, but it was because I was unconscious. I know some of them hate me still, for the disappointment that they couldn't play with me, and for what I did to Bucky. I sigh going out with a tray and the broken wine bottle.  
  
"Aw, mate, what happen'd to ye?" Pete stops me. "Ye have blood on yer face!"  
  
"I've just..." I say and can't find the word. I suddenly feel tired.  
  
"What, did ye make Captain angry? Don't worry, Ritchie, he's goin' to see his lady tomorrow, he's all impatient. 'Tis nothin'."  
  
"You know, Pete, I'm to sleep under the deck tonight. Should I bring something there?"  
  
"No, we have some spare blankets, I think." He's blinking and looking at me with heart-wrenching sympathy. "What did ye do to cross 'im that much?"  
  
"Nothing big. Just broke the wine bottle."  
  
"Ye did?" he's laughing. "'Tis a trifle! He can't wait to see her, that's all. He's impatient.'Tis been a long time, poor old devil." He winks at me. "We'll go an' have our fun with Antigua girls too, I tell ye. I'll show ye a nice house." He chuckles. "La Espina."  
  
"A strange name for a bawdy house."  
  
"'Tis no real one. The true name's La Rosa Sin Espina, but ye see, there's no bloody rose without thorns. So it's just The Thorn fer us."  
  
I sigh, going to the galleys with the sad remains of the Captain's breakfast. I'm not sure if I'm going to enjoy our stay on Antigua. I've never liked roses anyway.  
  
The day passes too quickly; I polish the deck, carry trays to Captain's cabin and try to be generally unnoticed. I succeed. He dines with Sharpe and doesn't even look at me. When the night comes, I go hesitantly downstairs, praying that nobody sees me. But I'm not that lucky. They obviously cannot sleep, all agitated about tomorrow; they're sitting in the scanty light of tallow-candles, playing cards or looking through their clothes.  
  
"Oooh, mateys, look who's come down to our humble quarters!" It's Bleeding Hand. "Not the Captain's cabin tonight? What happened, love? Spurn'd already?"  
  
I know that he hates me, because he got stabbed in his hand when the crew was quarrelling about who's to have the first turn with me. But I'm not in a humble mood now.  
  
"Tell me about your hand, mate," I say. "Healed already?"  
  
"Come here," he says standing up slowly. "I'll show ye if it's heal'd or not."  
  
"Now, now, stop it, men," says Paco the Fat, standing between us. "Save yer strength fer tomorrow."  
  
"No, I must teach this little slut that he's to keep his foul mouth shut!"  
  
"Wait, wait. He can amuse us," says Pete. "Sharpe said he can play lute. Let's have him play us somethin' nice."  
  
I hear the murmur of anticipation. Oh, good. But don't they have a musician? I've heard that pirate vessels usually have some.  
  
"We had three," says Paco, "but two are dead, an' one's run away in Nassau Port."  
  
"So you have a lute here?"  
  
"A lute an' a lil' drum. An' this one," he shows me a sad excuse for a tar. Or is it a tar? Looks rather big, and has one jingle missing. The lute doesn't seem to be in a good state too.  
  
"Do you have somebody who cares for these instruments?"  
  
"Well, we 'ave this Squall here," says Paco. "He can play drum. But the fellow who played lute got hanged, God save his poor dirty soul. An' the lute man ran away, an' took his lute with 'im, may Saint Virgin curse his legs. An' the pandeiro man is dead too."  
  
Ah, so the tar is called pandeiro here. I look at said Squall. He's a tall young fellow - about twenty years old, I guess - with slightly bulged, not very bright eyes. I know his story, his name is Dick or something like that, but he got his nickname when he fell overboard during the squall and got rescued against slight chances. Lucky Squall, they call him.  
  
"Alright, matey," I say, "I'll play the lute and you take the drum. Let's start from something not very lively. Don't worry."  
  
Squall nods, wipes his running nose off and takes the drum between his knees. I know already what I will sing. I'm hearing this song inside my head for two days now. I will sing "La Serena" - "if the sea was milk and the boats made of cinnamon, I would walk in to save my banner..."  
  
The men start to laugh, but they became strangely quiet with the third stanza. I'm lingering at it so long that I surprise myself, prolonging the words and making pauses. It hurts, and yet I cannot tear myself away.  
  
"En la mar hay una torre,  
  
En la torre hay una ventana..."  
  
I know all too well that "in the sea is a tower, in the tower is a window, in the window is a girl, the girl that loves sailors." There are always some girls that love sailors, but why was I so sure that sailors love their girls only from time to time and don't run away from what is willingly and lightly given by others?...  
  
I sing the fourth stanza, the one that another man should be singing:  
  
"Dame la mano tu palomba,  
  
Para suvir a tu nido..."  
  
I see myself in his place, standing under her window and calling her "my dove", asking her to give me her hand so that I can come up to her nest. Ah, "unlucky are you that sleep alone, I am coming to sleep with you..." Oh, damn.  
  
But I meet with a genuine applause. The poor rascals are thinking of their own "dove", a girl with full breasts and her heart as generous as her body. And I spend half of the night playing and singing cursed Sephardic romances, fanning those poor morons' desire for a woman to unbearable height, trying to kick my own stupid soul unconscious in some dark corner.  
  
The next day everybody who doesn't have to work is hanging on the ropes and railings, and swears that he can see the land. I bring the Captain's meal from the galleys and I'm going to slip out of the cabin, but he stops me.  
  
"Wait, Ritchie," he says. "I'm visitin' my lady, an' you an' Squall are goin' to attend me."  
  
He's looking at me with an almost innocent joy. He doesn't think of me. He forgot everything. Or was there anything he should remember? Maybe it's only my own overheated imagination. He is using me, because his lady can't be sailing with him. He is using me, because he doesn't have anybody more suitable than me. He will use me from time to time, that's the only thing I can hope for. I should be happy he's keeping me at all.  
  
"Aye, Captain," I say dully.  
  
"Not 'aye, Captain', ye have to wash yerself! An' tell Squall to do the same." Then he gestures towards the silken screen. "Ye have new clothes there."  
  
I throw myself to the screen. New clothes? Now there's something! His lady, whoever he is, won't see my unbearably dirty shirt and no less dirty breeches. Ah, these things... are they really for me? The shirt is delicate and soft, the breeches have nicely polished buttons... oh, there are top boots with square-shaped noses and loose bootlegs, and even... even a hat?... A hat with feathers... it's been so long since I had a hat!  
  
And when I finish washing, Sharpe calls me and gives me a pistol. I feel dizzy with pride now. I caress it, weighing the treasure in my hand, and I can't help kissing it, as if I were kissing a long-lost friend. It is my friend now, my one and only. Then I put my new clothes - and boots - on and tuck the pistol in the belt, bind my hair nicely and finally put on the hat. I'd like to know how I look, but as I feel suddenly approving looks from the men, I'm sure the effect is not bad. And I go to help the Captain to dress.  
  
We're already very close when I take one of heavy coats, embroidered with discreet silver, in my suddenly cold hands, and hold it so that the Captain can put it on. I touch his shoulders for all too brief a moment, smoothering the folds, and feel myself even colder, shivering. But my time is gone, now comes lady Rose's reign, and there's nothing I can do. I hand over Captain's hat, and we go to the main deck.  
  
It's my first step into the New World, but it pretty disappoints me. I've seen much more impressive things than the forts on Blake and Rat Islands, and the main town, Falmouth, can easily be compared with any Spanish or Italian town on the Mediterranian coast. There's only one thing that startles me: black people. So many of them, they are everywhere, yet they step asunder from any white man so obediently and quietly! Men seem much more subdued and frightened than women; they stoop, walk with their heads between their shoulders, talk with strangely high voices. But women, ah, they are so beautiful and proud, they walk so lightly and cast us such wondering or lofty glances that I can't help but smile at them openly.  
  
Only one half of the crew was lucky enough to be allowed to go freely to town; they are to go back after four days and change the other half, and then the careening is to begin. But the Captain, Squall and me are going to lady Rose's house, walking proudly - the Captain is first and we're after - through stony little streets. People look at our silken coats (yes, I've got a coat too), our well-shod boots, then at our pistols, and step aside with a respect that is too hasty to be real. We're not carrying anything, we have just some money - I have five dubloons, and that's all. The Captain has much more of course, but presents for his lady are still on La Aranha.  
  
We go past the court house, which serves also as the only church on Antigua, or at least Squall tells me so; we pass some stony houses with their shutters closed, and finally stand in front of one of them. The Captain gestures to me, and I take the copper ring and knock on the gate.  
  
It opens surprisingly quickly, that old man with a long gray beard must have been sitting behind it. He hesitates when he sees me, but then his eyes go to the Captain and his face is suddenly beaming.  
  
"I'm going to tell our lady, this moment," he babbles scratching his head with both his hands. "Please, please, Captain, do come in..."  
  
The Captain gives him a coin, and I hear a sound of shutters being opened - or closed? - and before the old man manages to go across the patio, the doors swing open, pushed by a strong hand, and the Captain's mistress herself steps on the doorsil.  
  
Why do I know that it's her and not a servant? It's not a dress or a hairmake, though they can easily mark a lady; no, it's those lively moves and eyes so terrifyingly bright that make her on a par with my Captain. She doesn't look at Squall or me, her first long, greedy look is for the Captain alone, and although they are observing the forms, I can feel how deep and meaningful is even that mere touch of their hands, when she gives him her long delicate fingers, so that he can kiss them according to the old Spanish custom. She is truly beautiful, full of powerful, sparkling energy like a fresh mountain spring. It's not only her hair that shines, she shines all with her light porcelain, fair skin, with her fingers rosy at the ends, with the long white neck; she resembles a sugar figurine under the generous rays of the sun. But she is no frail doll, I can tell it from her sharp, deep dark eyes. She looks at Squall and smiles at him - she knows him already; then she looks at me and then at the Captain with a polite inquiry in her eyes.  
  
"This is our new crew member," the Captain says with a smile, "his name's Ritchie Brown."  
  
I take my hat off lightly and bow to her in the Spanish manner. She seems pleasantly surprised, or should I say dismayed? I know she didn't see in my stare this naive worship she saw in Squall's eyes; but she smiles at me as well.  
  
tbc 


	3. Kissing the latch

Disclaimer: "Pirates of the Caribbean" belong to Disney. Now on with the songs: "Por la tu puerta" and "I love unloved" are anonymous and not mine; "Climb not too high" belongs to Nathaniel Pattrick and "Ay que me rio de amor" belongs to Juan Hidalgo.  
  
Rating: PG-13 this time. ONLY this time.  
  
A/N: Ez Haim is the name of the oldest Jewish quarter of Thessaloniki, Greece.  
  
I'd like to thank all my wonderful reviewers and readers most warmly; especially Mint Condition, ShadowsFalling and Alteng (your story is so sweet! I love your Pintel and Ragetti).  
  
----------------------------  
  
III  
  
I was right in my fears and hopes. My Captain cannot have an average woman for his lover. She is as clever as she is beautiful; I will always remember this little flick of alarm that showed in her eyes when they met mine. She felt I've acknowledged her power, but she has yet to understand why the hell I should.  
  
"By God, Captain Barbossa," she says, her voice sparkling with mischief, but her look aware and cold, "my trust in you is unsheakable indeed. I've almost taken him for a girl in boy's clothes."  
  
"Ah, and ye wouldn't be the first person to make that mistake, my lady," he answers with his light smile. "But a mistake it would be. Ritchie may look like a girl, but he can take a floggin' like a man."  
  
I narrow my eyes. So you must assure her you're not soft to me; Captain, please, spare your fatigue. She can see the yesterday's bruise on my face and it doesn't count as an excuse to her; you can swear to Virgin Mary you didn't touch me, but lady Rose knows better, I've told her enough with that surrender in my look.  
  
"Oh, but I am sure he is eager to obey whatever orders you give him," she says sending me a little sad smile.  
  
What, does she pity me?  
  
"I am doing my best, m'lady," I say innocently, lowering my eyes.  
  
"I've always praised the Captain for his talents in finding the worthy," she says courtly, "he never ceases to surprise me. But you can rest from your duties now, whatever they are, as long as the Captain is a guest in my house." And she leans her hand on his shoulder.  
  
Now there is a blow; I can't help but smile with admiration.  
  
"Your kindness is well appreciated, m'lady," I say looking at the rosy hand on the silver-embroidered coat, and then I meet the Captain's eyes.   
  
There is a clear warning in them: 'shut up, Ritchie, or it'll cost you dearly; you're not allowed to talk to her. Shut up NOW.'  
  
I know the Captain is not afraid of lady Rose's jealousy, she doesn't seem to throw a fit about her man having some random fuck when he's far away. It's the sight of his lady having a poisonous little talk with said random fuck that irritates him so. I am not worthy even to look upon her, let alone to say veiled impertinences like that. Alright.  
  
She doesn't want to pay more attention to me than it's necessary now - one quick glance at the Captain and she knows the further conversation is not welcome; and she frowns a little. She feels she can say and ask anything, it's just that I am not allowed to answer. But she is clever; she will wait.  
  
So she leans on the Captain's arm and leads him into the house. Squall, who was bored to death during our little sparring, brisks up and elbows me to follow him. It's not his first time here, and he knows we should go to the kitchen with the old man who was waiting at the gate.  
  
"What are we supposed to do in the kitchen?" I ask like an idiot.  
  
"Are ye sick today or what, mate? We're goin' to get somethin' to eat. An' then we go back to La Aranha to bring presents for lady Rose."  
  
"Only the two of us?"  
  
"No, the Captain's goin' to be with us."  
  
Uhm, it's not good news for me. The last thing I need now is to be with the Captain when his lady is not there. I'm going to earn some serious scolding.  
  
"And then?"  
  
"And then we stay here for the night. We're his attendants, don't ye remember? We're to stay where he stays."  
  
Oh, well, great. I'm to stay downstairs like some poor servant, while he's playing with his lady upstairs? I'm to sit here with a pint of thin beer, while he will drink wine with his love on her damn perfumed bed? I didn't see him touch her now except for kissing her hand, and I can only guess how powerful, how full of genuine love his desire can be, if he is restraining himself like that. He is not going to haste, he will not throw himself upon her; I can almost see his big hands on her slender shoulders, his eyes, that in vain try to hide his enchantment with his lady's beauty, on her fair face, and finally his lips on her delicate skin right under the rosy ear. And I am to stay downstairs.  
  
"Hey, Squall, mate," I say, "what about La Rosa Sin Espina? You know, the brothel. Are we bloody not allowed to go there?"  
  
"We're to stay with the Captain," he answers, blinking.  
  
"He has no heart," I murmur under my breath. "He can at least invite us to the party."  
  
"W-what party, matey?"  
  
"Never mind. Sweet Jesus," I say with a sigh.  
  
We are given some nice, thick bean soup, and beer as well. The cook, a taciturn big man in his forties, is standing over us, watching us gloomily. Or should I said he is watching me? He knows Squall already, but I'm new here and he doesn't trust me at all. His stare is wandering from the silver spoon in my hand to my hat on the reed chair next to me, then to my face and to my hand again. I can tell he is suspicious of me, as is the lady Rose's maid, Betsy with a horse face, as is the old doorkeeper, as is a fellow in a dusty wig who was helping the Captain to undress. It seems all the servants here learned from their mistress to judge people, or it's an unseen genius of the place that tells all its inhabitants to be cautious and careful with new visitors... or do they simply feel that I don't belong here and I'm staying in this house against my will, and that I've brought anxiety and disturbance with me?...  
  
The Captain is surprisingly silent through all the way back to La Aranha and I calm myself down a little. I wonder what they have been doing upstairs. I don't think they were so impatient as to satisfy themselves so fast. I'm experienced in that sort of things, I cannot feel this particular relief and tranquility that takes its hold upon a man who has just fulfilled his desire. It was a kiss, a little caress, nothing more. Maybe they discussed business. She is the Captain's informer, they have other things that bind them together, not only pleasures of flesh. Lady Rose is special to the Captain, she is his friend and companion as well as his lover.  
  
And I am not his friend nor his companion, and although he is taking his pleasure from me, I am not his lover either. I can think of one word only, but I've heard it from him already and I don't want to repeat it myself.  
  
We borrowed a mule from lady Rose's household, and I'm scratching it between the ears absent-mindedly all the way. I feel like this poor mule, lonely and obedient yet unnoticed, ah so deadly unnoticed. It's better to be killed by the Captain's hand that to be ignored like that.  
  
But it's Squall who is to stay in the docks with the friendly mule, among busy people running to and fro with boxes, packages and bags; he sighs and crouches by the mule's side, preparing to wait for the Captain and me; we are to be back with the tribute to his golden-haired lady.  
  
When we are in the Captain's cabin, I notice two solid chests placed proudly in the middle. I didn't sleep here at night and I didn't know the Captain was preparing himself so thoroughly. I cannot help but smile, and then something inside me gags my own common sense and cheerfully takes over.  
  
"Um, Captain," I say, "begging your pardon, I don't think we can take these two chests with us."  
  
He looks at me narrowing his eyes and I know already that it wasn't a good idea to try anything at all.  
  
"Did I ask ye 'bout yer opinion?"  
  
"No, Captain, but we should to spare the poor beast. It's not going to manage carrying those chests, really. I think they are starving it. I mean, the servants in lady Ros..."  
  
"Shut up, or I'll make ye carry them yerself!" he shouts. Ah, he cannot stand the sound of her name in my mouth.  
  
"Just wanted to help," I say sheepishly.  
  
He laughs a short, cruel laugh.  
  
"Nah, Ritchie, I don't think ye want to help. It's a nice day today an' we can end it nicely... or not. Keep yer advices to yerself. Ah, and if ye truly want to help, make some room in that chest."  
  
He goes behind the screen, and I open the lid. Maybe these chests aren't that heavy after all. There are mainly textiles in this one. Silk, brocade, laces, delicate linen wrapped in a vague vanilla scent. There are dresses too, dresses that always are a promise of a woman, even if the owner is dead - because there is always a new queen somewhere who is going to take her regalia and to rule over the world of men.  
  
I'm trying not to notice that some of these dresses are known to me. I am pleading dona Ursula to go back to the land of shadows, but I see her in these velvet blue folds: it was our first meeting, she had a black open-work fan and an azure mantilla, she looked at me from the carriage window and told me she liked me with one bold glance. She was accomplished in the art of talking only with her eyes and I was a willing accomplice, and this is why lady Rose understood me today so well.  
  
Ah, lady Rose. Now she will be wearing my dona Ursula's clothes. I surprise myself: I am looking forward to seeing her in them. Will she not belong to me by this a little, after all?  
  
But then the Captain goes back from behind the screen with a lute in his hands. No, it's not dona Ursula's lute; I cannot recognize it. It's not a big one - a delicate, almond shaped instrument with a devilishly carved rosette in the middle, a rosette that is almost living. The rosette, the Rose, all is for the Captain. I don't have anything here, not even myself; if anything belongs to me, it's only my guilty memories.  
  
"What are ye doin', ye lazy devil? I've told ye to take those dresses out, not to sit there with 'em!"  
  
Ah. I'm sitting with a bunch of dona Ursula's dresses in my arms.  
  
"Aye, Captain," I say obediently, standing up. "But maybe we can wrap the lute in the dresses so that it's safe to transport."  
  
"Maybe yer right." He looks at me amusingly as always. "Ye want me to get rid of these dresses?"  
  
"I don't care for dresses," I say narrowing my eyes, "as long as you don't expect me to wear them. But now as you have found a better use for them, you may add the scarlet one to the collection as well."  
  
He looks at me for a long while and I make a step back unwillingly, thinking that this time I've gone too far. But he just smiles and says simply:  
  
"No, the scarlet dress stays here." And then he turns his back to me.  
  
I feel as if he spat on me. Well, he doesn't want to be bothered, he's just ignoring me, because it's such a happy day he cannot even think about dealing with me. He's right, I'll shut up.  
  
Some men from the crew carry the chests to the docks and help Squall and me to fasten them on the mule's back. I feel sleepy; the Captain's energetic steps, Squall's hopeful face, the sun shining on all these townfolks, busying with their loads somewhere or just sitting and eating, or looking at us lazily from the windows, all the general happiness only annoys me. I want to doze off in some dark corner and to find myself back on La Aranha when we will be again at sea.  
  
Lady Rose's house is open and waiting for us. The doorkeeper is going to call the servants to help us with the chests, but the Captain stops him. He wants only Squall and me to do this task. Oh, so I'm just your servant just now, Captain? Are we, pirates, not equals, don't we call ourselves "brethren"? Am I to carry gifts for your lover, because you order me so?  
  
Then it dawns upon me that I'm not a pirate yet, after all. I haven't killed a man, I haven't been in a battle. The pistol I carry so proudly has yet to be used. And yes, I am the Captain's servant: I bring him food and pour him wine, and clean his cabin - that's all my contribution to the general pirate cause. And the only reason why I shouldn't be used for carrying presents for lady Rose - that reason is valid only to me and is, well, highly unglorious.  
  
Lady Rose thanks us very generously, with a charming little nod and smile. She is not looking at me, however, her eyes thank mainly Squall and not me. And I can see that Squall has something more in mind, he's watching lady Rose with such hope, almost with greed. She blushes and gives him a gold coin. Then she blushes even more and it's delightful to watch her little, perfectly shaped ears, because they are now red with embarrasment, when she finally turns to me and hands me over a gold coin too. Why is she so ashamed? Poor little beauty, you're in your house and in your rights, I think taking the coin from her. And it's a first time when our hands meet: her frail long fingers with pearly nails brush my dirty hand for a moment, and I smile; she touched me, there's a bond between us already.  
  
She thanks the Captain with a deep curtsy, but her next gesture is surprisingly intimate and tender: she takes his hand and sighs, apologizing that she's a little bit worried, because her favourite cat is missing; it didn't come for breakfast and nobody knows where it can be. I'm ready to roll my eyes, when I hear that the cat is named "Tarry", because it's tar black and looks like a devil, and I look at lady Rose with sympathy again. I've never heard about black cat that could be allowed to rest on a beautiful lady's lap; black cat is considered to be a witch's companion, nothing less, nothing more. And ladies don't like cats in general - there are still lands where cats are burned as cursed beasts, devil's apprentices - one more stain on humanity's white Christian garment. I think about my living in Thessaloniki and in Istanbul, I recall fondness that Jews and Muslims have for cats, I remember furry little balls bathing in the sun on the mosque yards... then I suddenly remember an unhappy lot of dogs in those cat-friendly lands and I'm forced to sigh. Ah, human stupidity is eternal, it only changes its shape.  
  
"I've promised my men a reward for finding my Tarry," says lady Rose, "but nobody knows where she's hiding. I hope she's not ill."  
  
"Why should she be ill?" asks the Captain.  
  
"Ah, because cats hide themselves when they're not feeling well. And if they are going to die, they hide so skilfully that nobody can find them." Lady Rose sighs. "Cats are noble animals, indeed, hiding their weakness and pain. We should learn from them, we're all too often carrying our ugly worries and misfortunes on our sleeves, as if proud of them. They are to be hidden, weakness is nothing to be proud of."  
  
"How right you are, my lady Rose," the Captain says kissing her fingers again. "We all know some people who should have this truth beaten into their heads."  
  
"I'm sure that Tarry is well, m'lady," I interrupt this unwanted moral lesson. "If she was with you yesterday, it means she's just gone somewhere. If she were ill, she would've disappeared yesterday evening."  
  
The Captain rolls his eyes impatiently, but lady Rose is looking at me with hope.  
  
"How do you know that?"  
  
"I know how cats behave, m'lady," I say. "I'd bet she's just hunting outside to bring you a gift of dead little bird or mouse. All living creatures that hunt are known to bring their prey to their loved ones."  
  
"Get out to the kitchen, you two," says the Captain giving me that warning look again. I bow hastily and take Squall with me.  
  
Betsy with a horse face proves herself to be a generous woman with a certain fondness for young men, because she brings us beer and fish and nice bread, and we sit to have a cozy chat. The cook is avoiding us, hovewer, and he puts his nose high with an air of disapproval for Betsy. She doesn't pay attention to him and bows over the table to say that the cook has always hated poor little Tarry, accusing her of stealing bacon and cracklings.  
  
"And you like Tarry, miss Betsy?" I ask her.  
  
"Oh, I didn't like her at the beginning, she looked like a little demon! But our lady Rose loved her and then I liked her too. The creature was able to show she liked you, you know. Our lady was always laughing at that witch thing, she told us we're not to listen to that rubbish. There are people here who say she's a witch, mind you."  
  
"A witch? Why?"  
  
"Why, because she's too beautiful. And she doesn't want men to live in her house, she likes to be alone. There are so many young gentlemen who'd like to become her lovers. But she turns all the proposals down. Only God Almighty knows how much money I was given to carry letters and presents to our lady. Many young men hate her now, I believe." And Betsy draws even closer to me and places her big veinous hand on my knee. "I am afraid som'times, you know. We're not safe here. All townfolks being Protestants and we being Catholics."  
  
"Is lady Rose a Catholic?"  
  
"Sure she is. She is an Irish. And here, she doesn't even have a church to go to on Sunday. Your Captain is always worrying about her, but she wants to stay here, she likes Antigua, and that merchant of her can easily visit her here. But I'm afraid. It's not very safe place for us."  
  
"Funny," I say looking in Betsy's blue eyes, "I'm a Catholic too."  
  
"You are? Oh," she says smilling shyly.  
  
"Not only me," I say looking at Squall. "Most of our crew are Catholics, right, Squall?"  
  
He blinks and I kick him under the table, so he has to agree, but then he looks at me with dismay. I ignore him and ask Betsy coaxingly:  
  
"Do you think we could search for little Tarry too, miss Betsy?"  
  
"Where do you want to search for her, Ritchie?" she asks me, frowning.  
  
"Wherever you'd trust us enough to allow the search," I say taking her hand lightly. "If you'd like to show us the garden, we can look for Tarry in the garden... and then share the reward."  
  
"Oh," she says holding my hand with maidenly smile, "we can search the garden then, because I've looked through the whole house."  
  
"I don't want to share the reward, mate," says Squall with a little flare in his eyes that were rather dull until now.  
  
"Alright, you do with your reward what you please," I say standing up.  
  
"I don't desire your reward either, Ritchie," says Betsy generously, but I can see that she desires something else.  
  
"Good," I say.  
  
We go down to the garden. Squall rushes to the completely opposite corner, and we start to look through the bushes. I cannot help but smile to myself at the rather poor condition of lady Rose's garden; it seems she is not very concerned about the appearances. Flowers and grass are growing alike in big clusters, and a little pond in the middle is almost invisible under the thick muddy-green cover. But I don't think that Tarry was so stupid as to drown in it. I suspect a cruel joke; if what Betsy said about townsfolk taking lady Rose for a witch, then the poor beast can be in danger too.  
  
Betsy is looking through the grass rather clumsily, and her eyes go to me all the time, but I have my own reasons for finding the cat. I cannot help thinking about the Captain and lady Rose upstairs; I see her on his knees, I see him on her bed; I am dying to see them together. It's still bright outside and I don't think they closed the bedroom door for good, but my imagination tells me otherwise.  
  
"Oh m'God, matey!" I hear Squall's voice on the other end of the garden. "I can't believe it! I have the cat! It's here!"  
  
We rush to him and find him standing over a little empty cistern under the garden wall. The unfortunate cat didn't count the distance well and probably slipped from the wall into the cistern. I can tell it's not an adult one, it's barely grown out of its kittenhood. Poor Tarry, she almost lost her voice trying to call her mistress; her black fur is bristled and her yellow eyes are full of panic. The cistern resembles a stony mortar and it's walls are too smooth for the cat to climb.  
  
And, of course, Tarry is crazy from fear and although she's exhausted, she doesn't forget to fight. Squall has already two bloody scratches on his hands and he's swearing with all dirty words he knows.  
  
"She's mine," he says, "I've found her, but how I'm to take that cursed beast out of it? She's gonna to bloody take me eyes out!"  
  
"Alright, mate, I can do it," I say. "Don't worry, I don't want your reward, but I'll carry the cat to lady Rose, alright?"  
  
"Alright, we've an accord," says Squall with relief.  
  
I take my coat off and gently cover the cistern, then wait. Tarry's cries muffle and cease; I wrap her swiftly in my coat and carry out of the cistern.  
  
"It stops fighting when you wrap it in some dark cloth," I say to Betsy, who's looking at me in awe. "You have to pay attention not to squeeze it, and make sure it has the air to breathe, and it's going to be perfectly quiet."   
  
We go upstairs, Betsy, Squall and me, but Betsy stops suddenly at the lady Rose's doors.  
  
"I don't think that the two of you should come in," she says. "I'm allowed to, but you're not."  
  
"Alright," says Squall eagerly, and I can see he's thinking of the Captain's wrath, "I'll stay here."  
  
"And I won't stay here," I say stubbornly. "I have lady Rose's favourite cat and I want my... Squall's reward, anyway."  
  
Betsy looks at me frowning, but then she sighs.  
  
"Well, the lady allowed me to come in if I have something important to tell her. She was worried about Tarry all the morning. I'll come in."  
  
"You know what, mate," whispers Squall to me, when we are waiting for Betsy in the corridor under a big mirror in heavy mahogany frames, "are ye daft today or what? Yer trying to talk to our Captain's lady... 'Tis not very good fer ye. The Captain's not pleased at all."  
  
"Ah, mate, you have eyes and what do you see?" I ask him not so innocently, scratching Tarry under her chin. "I don't want to talk to the lady, I just want her not to worry anymore. I think the Captain shouldn't have anything against it. She'll be even sweeter to him when she sees that her Tarry is safe and sound."  
  
Betsy opens the door and invites me with one impatient gesture, and I step in with Tarry in my arms.  
  
The room is not as big as I've thought, but it's bright and pleasant, with a round table in the middle and several very richly made and heavy chairs. The evening breeze is moving silky green curtains, the high windows are crystally clean and I can almost count little columns of the terrace balustrade.  
  
They are sitting very close, with bowls of wine and silver plate of fruits before them. Lady Rose's golden head rests on the Captain's shoulder, her light laced dress covers his boots - their thights are touching, but she's not sitting on his knees. The new lute with a living rosette is placed on the chair next to her.  
  
It's clear to me that the Captain was against letting me here, but lady Rose asked him to allow me in. His look is that of hatred and warning, but I'm pretending I don't understand it. Well, I'm not myself today. I'm unhappy and bitter... or am I? When I'm watching them now, I cannot help but feel admiration for this beautiful pair. They don't need words, they don't need anything more than only their closeness now, they are taking their delight in each other's company, nothing more. There will come time for giving and receiving love as ordinary people understand it, but now that simple moment of rest is enough.  
  
Lady Rose lifts herself briefly from the chair to take Tarry from my coat and says:  
  
"I'm so grateful to you, Ritchie."  
  
"It's not me, in fact, m'lady," I say. "It's Squall. He found Tarry in the oval cystern in the garden. I've only taken her out, using my coat, because she was fighting a bit too bravely."  
  
"So the award should go to both of you," she says taking two dubloons from her purse.  
  
But I take only one coin and return the other.  
  
"Begging your pardon, m'lady," I say, "I didn't do anything. I'll give this one to Squall..."  
  
She narrows her eyes, thinking that I despise her money this time.  
  
"Is there anything else you'd like to get?"  
  
"Yes, m'lady, there is," I say with a smug smile. "I'd like to ask you for help. You're playing lute, I see; we have a lute on our ship too, but it's in not so good condition and it needs new strings. If you have spare ones and would be so kind as to give us some..."  
  
She smiles, somehow relieved, but I can see a little malicious flick in her eyes.  
  
"I'll surely give you new strings, if you need them so badly..." she says, and the Captain interrupts her suddenly:  
  
"We can ask you when we're leavin', my lady. No need to bother you now. Get out of here, Ritchie," he says standing up.  
  
But she stops him.  
  
"Wait, please, Captain," she says sweetly and pleadingly. "We have some time to spare, let's play a little."  
  
He sighs, looking at her.  
  
"Play what, my lady?"  
  
"Let's play lute together. Just a little, please."  
  
He looks at me and I can say that he's furious; were it not for lady Rose's presence, he'd throw me down the staircase. Or worse. But her soft hand on his sleeve calms him down. He doesn't want their precious moment together to be interrupted, last of all by me, and lady Rose's idea of playing lute with me is something very disturbing, but he knows her and he wants to see where she is going.  
  
"Isn't it charming, a miniature concert for you, Captain?" she asks innocently, giving him Tarry and taking the lute from the chair. The Captain takes the cat in his big hands rather suspiciously, and lady Rose continues, "not many men can enjoy such peaceful evening, with music, harmony and mutual understanding... when daily worries and cares are absent. Ritchie, be so kind, please, give Tarry to Betsy and ask her to feed the cat. And come back here."  
  
I do as ordered - or asked, rather - and come back to them only to see that the Captain is looking at lady Rose with a vague smile; then he looks at me still smilling, and I wonder what could possibly melt his heart so. It seems that I'm relatively safe now and don't have to fear that he would kill me if only lady Rose turns her back to us. But I know that it's not her pity that worked here - her pity is much more painful to me than would be her disdain - it's that mischief that I've seen in her dark eyes before.  
  
She invites me to sit down, on the chair opposite to them, and touching the lute strings absent-mindedly she asks:  
  
"What can you play, Ritchie?"  
  
"Whatever pleases you, m'lady," I say, "I can play melodies and songs, I can play and sing alike, English and Italian and Spanish ones. Just tell me your wish and I will try to fulfill it."  
  
"Interesting," she says and I can hear a genuine interest in her sweet yet so strong voice. "I can understand Spanish, but I don't know Spanish songs. Let's do it that way: you play me a Spanish song and I play you an English one in return."  
  
In return? Are we not supposed to play for the Captain? But he is sitting calmly, watching us with a hint of that smile, and I understand that it's going to be a little duel rather than a concert. For a while I wonder how the Captain is feeling, with the two of us by each side. Well, I know on which side his heart is, but it doesn't matter now, because we can at last have a talk, lady Rose and me.  
  
"We have an accord, m'lady," I say.  
  
"You play first, then," she says unceremonially, giving me the lute.  
  
The touch of this excellent instrument gives me strength, as always. Ah, music is indeed more powerful than anything humanity managed to invent. When you listen to it, the world you're living in disappears; when you're playing or singing, you create a world of your own.  
  
"It will be a Spanish song," I say with a smile, "but it has Turkish words in it too, because it's sung by Jews of the Mediterranean."  
  
"You don't have to explain it yet," says lady Rose. "If I don't understand anything, I will ask afterwards."  
  
"As you wish, m'lady," I say taking first accords of the song I was singing under the balconies of the Ez Haim quarter not once and not even twice. Listen, lady Rose, it's a song the Captain should be singing to you: how he passed by your door and found you sitting upstairs, how he kissed the latch as if kissing your cheeks.  
  
"Wait, wait," she says with her hand in the air, "I can see that "bezir" is "to kiss", but what does the refrain mean?"  
  
Ah, yes, the refrain is not Spanish at all.  
  
"It's a perfect line in a song that I am singing for you, m'lady," I say. "'Aman, aman, gul pembe, ne bu yuselik sende' - it means 'ah, pink rose, how beautiful you are.'"  
  
She blushes. It's really delightful to see her blush.  
  
"Yes, this song is about you," I continue with an innocent worship in my voice. "But maybe I should explain that 'el sarraf' in the next stanza means 'a coffer'."   
  
And then I sing those lines that fit lady Rose even more: "do not reject me when I'm kissing and embracing you - because I hold and I keep you like ducats in the coffer... ah, pink rose, how beautiful you are".  
  
There is now a brief, but vehement fire of anger in her eyes. But lady Rose, think of it, you are the Captain's property even more than I am. He is bringing you chests of gifts, but you are a thing in one of his chests yourself - aren't you, beautiful pink rose? Is he not holding you and keeping you?  
  
"It was a nice song indeed," she says calmly taking lute from my hands. "Now it's my turn. Are you enjoying it, Captain Barbossa?"  
  
"Why, my lady Rose," he says with a little too broad a smile, "most certainly I am."  
  
I feel a sting of reproach beneath his amused words, and I can imagine that he gave her an advice not to treat me so nicely and not to allow me too much, but she didn't listen to him. I'd bet he is thinking: 'now, now, ye see, my sweet love? I've told you he's not to be treated politely. He is not worth yer kindness. You give him a finger an' he wants the whole hand. You'll know better next time.' He is not pleased with me, but he thinks that his stubborn beauty has been taught a good lesson.  
  
"This song," she says looking into my eyes sweetly, "does not need to be explained."  
  
I smile leaning my head on my hands. The Captain looks like he wants to push my elbows from the table, but he's restraining himself.  
  
"Climb not too high for fear thou catch a fall.  
  
Seek not to build thy nest within the sun,  
  
Refrain the thing which bringeth thee to thrall,  
  
Lest when too late thou find'st thyself undone:  
  
Cause thy desires to rest and sleep a pace,  
  
And let thy fancy take her resting place."  
  
Ah, so there is what you think of me, lady Rose? You regard me as much less than yourself? Well, you're right here, perhaps, and I cannot fight with this song, for I am indeed nothing compared to you; and if your lover is the sun, there is only you that would not burn your wings. But who told you that it's fancy that is controlling me? Are you afraid of it? Because indeed, so many people do stupid things for love, destroying themselves and those loved all the same... yet I didn't give you reason to judge me so lightly. I am not speaking of my fancy or my love. There is so many other unnamed desires I can be perfectly contended with. I can live without that cheap 'love', lady Rose, you know what? I laugh at love.  
  
"Now it's again a Spanish song," I say taking the lute, "and it doesn't need any explanation either."  
  
It's one of these songs that my dona Ursula taught me, a minute courtly song with words that almost cannot stick together, and finally leave you with the impression of being mocked and ridiculed.  
  
"Ay que me rio de amor,  
  
escuchen atiendan,  
  
vean lo que importa  
  
seguir mi opinion."  
  
Oh, how I laugh at love - listen to me, you'll see how important it is to follow my thought. The one that loves you will reproach you and teach you, but the one whose love is more like an illness, will say that you are right and stay by your side. The one who loves you will be reluctant to admit his love, the one whose love is ill enough to be called something else will never be ashamed of you. You do not have to worry, lady Rose, I don't need any love, I laugh at it.  
  
She lowers her head for a moment, but when she raises it I can see I didn't convince her. Now it's her turn. The Captain seems strangely embarrassed, and he's looking out the window. Why? Is he cursing his idea of bringing me here with him? But what did you think, Captain - did you expect that your lady will pretend that she is innocently blind? Or did you consider her a whip to bring me to my knees?   
  
"I love unloved; such is mine adventure,  
  
And cannot cease till I sore smart;  
  
But love my foe, that fervent creature  
  
Whose unkindness hath kill'd mine heart;  
  
From his love nothing can me rent,  
  
But live in pain while I endure  
  
And love unloved, such is mine adventure."  
  
I know this song, and there should be 'from her love nothing can me rent' - but lady Rose changed it; she was singing it about me. Ah, she does see me through, she doesn't believe me in the slightest. So be it, then; I won't try to convince her otherwise. If my thoughts and desires can be revealed so easily, what can I do? And lady Rose is much more powerful than me, it's true; I won't carry this fight any further.  
  
I shake my head, and she doesn't hand me the lute again; she knows she won.  
  
"Begging your pardon, m'lady," I say with a bow, "I cannot thing of any song that would fit the mood now. Please, m'lady, do dismiss me now..."  
  
"Oh, you are free to go," she says with a pleasant smile. "I hope you will rest well, you and Squall."  
  
"Thank you, m'lady," I say raising from my chair. I don't want to look at the Captain, but he stops me suddenly with a serious face.  
  
"Yer to stay downstairs with Squall an' not to go anywhere else. Is that clear to ye?"  
  
"Aye, Captain," I say with my voice as tired as I can make it.  
  
"Yer to sleep in the kitchen in case I need any of ye. An' yer not to wander around the house. Understood?"  
  
"Aye, Captain," I say, "perfectly."  
  
"Don't make a nuisance of yerself or I'll deal with ye. Ye can go now."  
  
I wish them a pleasant evening and go downstairs, to Betsy and Squall, who look as if they've reached their own accord in my absence. I give Squall his reward coin and sit under the stove, looking dully at little black Tarry playing with a fish backbone. The kitchen is gloomy, full of evening shadows. I sigh looking at the naked stone floor, at the huge cold table with deep scars from butcher's knife, at the smoked walls... I'm not really tired, rather strangely stupefied and dizzy. I'm not even hungry; I put away the generous supper prepared by Betsy's friendly hands, and doze off leaning my head on my arms.  
  
When I wake up, it's already night. The moonlight is pouring through a mated window; Squall is snoring under the stove. Tarry is sleeping in the basket near the door. Everything is calm, but I am not. I have still this little sunny room, with the Captain and lady Rose seated at the round table, beautiful, cheerful, shining with happiness, before my eyes. I cannot stay here.  
  
"Hey, Squall, wake up!"  
  
"Whhh..."  
  
"Wake up, stupid. You're not going to spend all night like that, right?"  
  
"What d'ye want?..."  
  
"It's your first night on land, and you're sleeping?! Don't be an idiot!"  
  
"Go to hell, Ritchie."  
  
"Come on, let's go to La Rosa Sin Espina."  
  
"What?" and Squall sits on his blanket. "Are ye sick? The Captain told us to stay here on his orders!"  
  
"I may be sick, mate, but you are stupid. He won't need us even if hell freezes tonight. He'll be a-playing Adam and Eve with lady Rose all night round. And we deserve our enjoyment too, you agree with me."  
  
I can see he's beginning to sway.  
  
"How are we goin' to go outside?"  
  
"We have a window here, mate. Come on. I'd go alone, but I don't know where this brothel is."  
  
"Ah, yer right." He scratches his head. "But if the Captain wakes up an' we aren't here, he's goin' to kill us."  
  
"We'll stay here from tomorrow like nice boys, mate. But today it's a perfect chance to see some girls. Come on. The night is young, but we don't have much time. And you got money from lady Rose, right? Are you going to use it at all or not?"  
  
He doesn't want to stay, but he's afraid of the Captain. Uh, what a hard piece of work.  
  
"Well, I'll be blowed if I stay here," I declare and take the chair to climb to the little window.  
  
"Wait, wait, I'm goin' with ye," he whispers feverishly. "But if he finds out..."  
  
"Are you a child or what, mate? If he finds out, let's say it was my idea, because I haven't been to the New World brothel in my life. He's going to understand it. Look, he has his lady tonight, he'll be softer to us."  
  
Squall nods and helps me with the chair, and we climb into the warm embrace of the night.  
  
tbc 


	4. La Rosa Sin Espina

Disclaimer: "Pirates of the Caribbean" belong to Disney.  
  
Rating: R  
  
A/N: Any resemblance of characters described in this chapter to real persons is fully intentional. Sue me, losers.  
  
... ekhm. Going back to nice!PeiPei mode: I thank all my dear reviewers and readers, especially ShadowsFalling (hugs, dear! I'm very grateful for your sweet reviews. I'm sorry I didn't e-mail you recently; I was really busy), Alteng (I will read your new Pintel and Ragetti chapter soon!) and Ani Sparrow (I'm glad you're reading this one!). And of course Mint Condition, to whom I dedicate this humble story.  
  
------------------------------  
  
IV  
  
The night sky is so smooth and silky, the air is so sweet. I feel more and more free with each step that carries me away from lady Rose's house. It's no place for me. Ah, it seems that I cannot stay in a decent place at all.  
  
Squall is sniveling loudly by my side; he's a little bit scared by his own bravery, and he has to hearten himself up by jangling the gold coins in his pocket. We are walking from some time already, because La Rosa Sin Espina is placed on the town outskirts; but when we reach our goal, I see with dismay that it looks just like other white-stoned honourable houses, it's only bigger and louder.  
  
I feel a sudden reluctance before we come in. I'd rather stay outside to my own surprise; it's my first night in the New World and I find it intoxicating enough. I don't need girls, I don't need alcohol, I'd like to lie down on the grass and look up at this endless vault of heaven. It's been a long time since I've spent my night outside, and sleeping under the calm dark sky has always a taste of safety and freedom alike. Why do I care for Captain Barbossa and his lady Rose? Let them be happy together in their narrowish little house.  
  
But no, my head is still full of envy and regret. It's not so easy to forget their blissful smiles, and when I step into the friendly warm of my first Antigua brothel, I'm reminded anew that scorn and loneliness can taste even more bitter while you are among others. The high rooms are filled with light and music and laughter, and when we come into the main hall, we're greeted by two dark-haired girls that seem to be dressed only in flounces. They grab Squall and me unceremoniously and drag us into the middle of the drunken party, squeeing loudly over our youth.  
  
I am among my pirate companions again, but even as much as I want to dissolve my feelings of hurt and longing in this house's eager embrace, I cannot stop noticing things that don't help me in the slightest.  
  
Pete, Bleeding Hand, stupid Bucky with his leg still not fully healed, Paco and his brother and some other mateys are all drunk already; I can say they all were dancing with girls, but the closeness of women's rich bosoms and big thights began to disturb them, and now they are just sitting here and there, some of them with girls' legs around their waists; a few are still moving on the dance floor, but they forget about the distance and are groping their partners rather openly. The musicians under the walls are dozing sometimes, but nobody complains, and even when some of them awakens suddenly and tries to play with a new fervour, his colleagues calm him down.  
  
The place must seem like a fairy palace for the poor gobs, with red draperies over the walls and windows, with huge mythological paintings that praise nymphs displaying breasts like sacks of flour and arses like heads of sugar, with mirrors and even something that looks like carpet on the dirty wooden floor. But the draperies are dusty and ragged at places, paintings are rather unskillful when it comes to other things than women's bodily charms, and if you look in the mirror, you see something that looks like a decaying corpse. If there is anything beautiful here, it's the girls.  
  
But the pirates don't see their beauty, in fact. They see their breasts, calves, thights and that sweet corner between them, that's all. They don't care for those long cinnamonlike fingers, for dark velvety eyes, for graceful feet and heavy thick hair. There is not much in a woman that could interest them - only those boring features that ensure a male that he deals with a female, nothing more; the whole subtle grace of their ladies is lost to them. And I see Captain Barbossa sitting by his lady's side, with her golden head on his broad shoulder, both of them unmoving, both of them deliberately tasting each other's company in the soft light of sunset.  
  
I look at Squall, who is already dead drunk - I couldn't even notice when and where he grabbed any rum. Ah, maybe his dark skinned beauty has been feeding him with it; now she's holding his dizzy head in the crook of her arm, calling him "my sweet baby" and kissing his blissfully smilling lips. Uh. I need a drink too... or maybe not. I feel foreign here. I cannot forget lady Rose's house. I want to be there and not in the cheap brothel. I'd better go back.  
  
But I cannot go back now, because Squall is already in his girl's power; they are kissing and he gave her first coin. I must wait until he's sober. Maybe I should just wander around the place. Luckily, not many fellows from La Aranha are able to notice that Squall and me are here - only Smallpox-Pete waved his hand to me, but I doubt he'll remember it the next day.  
  
I go out discreetly and find myself in the narrow corridor; if not for a door opened to the backyard, it would be hellishly dark here. But it seems that on the other side there's a dancing room similar to ours; and stairs lead to girls' bedrooms. It's strangely quiet here, looks like all the girls are with the pirates. Or am I mistaken? I can hear distant music on the other side of the corridor. So we are not the only guests tonight. Well, I'm not going to stay with pirates and girls, I can see what's going in there. I have nice clothes and a hat and money, I don't think anybody could forbid me entrance anywhere. And if he does, I have a pistol too.  
  
I cross the corridor and half-open the door.  
  
The room looks just like the one I've just left, only the paintings seem more artful and the draperies not so dirty. There are musicians in here too, but they are playing very quietly and they're not sleeping. Nobody is dancing; there is a small group of men surrounding two women in the middle.  
  
One is in her early forties, tall, very skinny, with a serious, deeply carved face. She has an air of authority about her, and looking at her hands adorned with countless bracelets, rings and pendants, I assume that she may be a madame of the house.  
  
She is leaning her talonlike hand on a little girl's shoulder. Or perhaps this girl is not so little, she just looks panic and intimidated at the same time. She is the youngest in the room, and although I've never seen a face like that - with a copper-red tint and eyes reminding me of watermelon seeds - I can see that she's my age or maybe younger. She's dressed in some light-blue garment like other girls of the house, but it's clear that she's never worn things like that; she is standing in it rather clumsily, rounding her arms, like she'd want to slid it down her shoulders.  
  
The men standing around her are tall, well-built, well-fed and well-dressed. Red cheeks, broad arms and proud glances, ah, it must be the gathering of town's gilded youth. I know that it's a pretty common thing for young gentlemen of London to visit the dirtiest haunts of the city and fish for pearls in their muddy waters - it seems that the custom is alive in the New World as well. The girl they've found can hardly be compared to a pearl, she is too clumsy and too childish to be even called a woman, but she has something they'd like to take - her freshness, her virginity. I smile, thinking that it's funny how a place called brothel narrows men's views; the pirates see only those open wet corners between their women's legs, and these healthy young bulls see in this girl only a sealed entrance that they can break through.  
  
I'm listening to their wholehearted laugh. They're talking and joking, not looking at the girl, who is watching them with eyes full of lurking hope. I don't like this look on her. It tells too much of her trusting, betrayed childhood, still so eager to offer its trust to the first person who shows even a trace of tenderness to her. No, stupid, look at them: they don't notice you. Nobody will show you any kindness here. You're a sealed vessel, ready to be broken and left scattered. You'd better hate them than seek their sympathy, the earlier the better, you hear me? Sadness and tears will leave you shivering, but hate and wrath can warm you up nicely in all those long nights to come.   
  
And I start to wonder if I can snatch the girl from under these perked red noses. It wouldn't help her in the slightest, if she's been sold here, she will have to sleep with worse specimens than them anyway, but I can at least make her first time worth remembering, and maybe I can teach her a thing or two. I scratch my nose: is five dubloons enough to buy her virginity? I don't think so...  
  
"Well," says a bulky fellow seated on the window sill, "you should be happy as a pig in the mud, Nichols, and I don't see any happiness on your face. If that's how you welcome your victory, damn, give me the girl."  
  
...and moreover it seems that the transaction is already finished. Damn.  
  
"No," says the man called Nichols, "I must console myself before I'll have what I want. And I will have it tomorrow, I swear."   
  
He puts his arm around the girl's neck, leaning his big hand on her head, spreading his fingers out widely; and I can see the brief flicker of anger in the girl's lacquered black eyes. Good. She can feel anger - I can help her.  
  
"Ah, you can swear on what you like, but you still have to content yourself with a whole-meal bread, and a cake is out of your reach."  
  
"You're so damn bitter, Shally, because you were soooo close... and now YOU have to content yourself with some poxed Elsie who's dancing with sailors. And I have a nice, clean girl here." And Nichols grins widely at his friend.  
  
I look at him from my post at the door. He's a tall, dark fellow and something tells me that he can be a soldier, or maybe all young men here are at His Majesty's service. They don't wear uniforms, because their ranks don't require it, but their loud voices and broad gestures are marking them as men accustomed to order others around. Nichols seems to be their leader, royally generous, letting others to joke at him, but watching them in case they cross the line.  
  
"Ah, you're right," says Shally from the window-sill with a light sigh; and he adds with slight irony, "enjoy this fresh bread, then, before you grab the cake."  
  
"I will, I will." Nichols' hold on the girl grows stronger. "But there's no doubt, that blond Irish harlot will be mine tomorrow. And then anybody can have this piece," he shakes girl's shoulders carelessly.  
  
Wait, wait! What was it that he's just said? 'That blond Irish harlot'? I can't believe my own ears. I know of a golden-haired Irish woman in this town; and it happens to be lady Rose O'Mallory, my Captain's truelove. How is this possible that this military piece of meat is talking about her and calling her 'harlot'? How in hell is that possible that tomorrow she would be his?  
  
It must be her that he's talking about. I doubt there is any other blond Irish woman in this English town. And I recall Betsy's words about many gentlemen who dream of becoming lady Rose's lovers. This one must be one of those spurned ones.  
  
Sweet, faithful lady Rose, I think unexpectedly, feeling a sudden wave of pride. You are our Captain's loyal follower, just like me; no young stupid stallion can have his chance in your eyes. And although you won't know it, this one will pay for what he's said about having you, just because I'm here.  
  
But what do his words mean? Why should she be his tomorrow, what kind of trap did he set for her? It may be that she's in danger. She is alone on the island, she is Irish and Catholic... wait, it can be something with religion. Anyway, I'll find out. And the girl...  
  
Oh, the girl. I've forgotten about her. She's staying in Nichols' heavy embrace, with her black eyes flickering with powerless rage. Wait, wait. We'll have our glorious moment soon, you and lady Rose and me.  
  
Then all of a sudden Nichols takes his arm off the girl and announces:  
  
"Madame Marguerite, gentlemen - seeing that I'm the winner here, I'd like to retire with my lady here to her apartments, if you allow me."  
  
His colleagues clap their hands and shout encouraging words, and madame says something with a pleasant and sharp smile. But Nichols continues:  
  
"I believe in what our dear madame told us, but I'd like to check something nonetheless. What do you think, gentlemen? Should I feel here, with my own hand, before your eyes, if this little Sancha is really a chaste flower worth my sweet defloration money?"  
  
He reaches for blue flounces of her dress and starts to lift its folds, so that the girl's feet are visible; then her ankles, then calves, and it dawns upon me that he wants to feel if her hymen is intact - here, before all his delighted chums.  
  
I sigh with delight, for now I feel that this night will be my first too. Ah, joy, I will use my new pistol. My place at the door is perfect, I can see Nichols' dark head and his crooked nose, probably broken in a fight. I can take an aim at that nose. Good. It's better to practice as soon as possible and I don't care that he's unarmed. I'd like to see some blood tonight and it's not the girl's virgin blood.  
  
"No, wait," says Shally, all blushed suddenly. "'Tis not necessary, take her to her room."  
  
"But why?" asks Nichols, unsatisfied, and I hear displeased murmurs of some men. "It's a little gratification for you too, isn't it? Come on."  
  
"No, mate, you will only arouse our disappointment," explains Shally innocently. "As far as I am concerned. Don't make us drool, Nichols. Have your fun somewhere else."  
  
"Alright," says Nichols, maybe suddenly understanding a slight tone of disgust in his friend's voice. "See us upstairs at least, then."  
  
"That may be," says Shally and gestures at the rest of their companions. "Let's go, gentlemen."  
  
I bit my lip. Now it's me who's disappointed. I step aside into the darkness of the corridor, letting the lecherous procession pass by me and go upstairs. Nobody notices me. When the corridor becomes empty and all Nichol's chums are gone to the dancing hall on the opposite side - it doesn't surprise me either, it's just like London, where the highest often seek their delight in mingling with the lowest - I run upstairs, overwhelmed with sweet anticipation of violence and blood.  
  
Fortunately I've noticed which room they went in, and now I knock on the door very, very politely.  
  
"Who's that?" I hear Nichols' voice. I am silent; I just want him to approach the door.  
  
"What the hell..." he says opening it at last, and in the next moment I push the door so that it hits him in the head, he lands violently in the chair, and when he rallies from an initial shock, he can see my pistol pointed directly between his eyes.  
  
The girl by the name of Sancha is sitting motionlessly on the bed, huddling herself, still dressed in this flouncy blue dress. She needs a while to understand that something has just changed and that Nichols is not by her side anymore; she raises her head slowly to look at me. I smile at her briefly, just to put her out of this panic state, but she's very reluctant to react. I must find a way to calm her down.  
  
"Good evening to you, Sancha," I say. "You see, I happen to dislike this little officer of yours. And I think that you don't like him either, so we're going to have a truly good evening here."  
  
"Who are you?!" hisses Nichols. He's sobered, a little bit too quickly to my liking.  
  
"I'm the one who's stuffing up your mother's hole, you idiot," I say, and then smack him on the head. I need him silent for a moment; and when he falls on the dirty floor, I check the corridor. It's empty. Good.  
  
I go back to Sancha and I'm going to sit next to her, when I notice that she starts to shake more and more. Oh. I can't waste my time on her.  
  
I take the chair, place it before the bed and sit.  
  
"Look at me," I say sharply.  
  
She takes a deep breath and I can hear a sob beneath it.  
  
"No, no, no," I say. "Don't think! Look at me! I'm not touching you. We must talk. Look me in the eyes first. Easy."  
  
She blinks and looks at me, frowning a little. I'm not moving, just sitting before her, and finally I see a flicker of surprise, mistrust and relief combined.  
  
"Aha?..." I say. "Everything is alright. You're safe with me. Now look there," and I point at Nichols.   
  
She looks at him and then at me.  
  
"You see? He's lying there harmless as a baby, and it's me who's put him to sleep. But not for long. He's alive, and we don't need him dead this time. And before he wakes up, we must talk. You understand me?"  
  
She nods. I sigh.  
  
"Say something, be a brave girl. I'd bet you liked all that little scene, right?"  
  
"Yes," she whispers looking at me as if I had four eyes.  
  
"Ah, good. We've a similar taste, it seems. Listen to me, Sancha. You don't have to sleep with this mongrel, because I have a little business to do with him. He's going to harm some lady and I'm going to upset his apple-cart. Do you follow me?"  
  
"Yes." And she straightens, narrows her eyes and prepares to listen to me. I smile at her eagerness; I was right about her. She can be of help, thank God.  
  
"And I have an offer for you: you help me with this sack of shit and I'm taking you away from here."  
  
"But... but where will you take me?" she whispers. "My mistress sold me here."  
  
"What do you mean, your mistress? Are you a slave?"  
  
"Yes," she says, looking down. "Ladies here sometimes send their slaves to brothels to raise money for them."  
  
"Aha," I say scratching my nose. "Do all ladies do that?"  
  
"No..."  
  
"If you're going to help me, my lady..." I pause for a moment. Ah, never mind. "...my lady will hide you in her house and nobody will ever know."  
  
She is looking at me rather suspiciously.  
  
"And who is your lady?"  
  
"Miss Rose O'Mallory," I say.  
  
She jumps up on her bed.  
  
"I know her!" she exclaims. "My mistress says she's a witch and she's a heretic. And..."  
  
"Shhh," I say. "You see? If they hate each other, the better. But we don't have time. I must have a little talk with this idiot now. Listen to me..."  
  
"No, no, you listen!" she whispers feverishly. "My mistress' family has a complaint against lady Rose, and they are going to arrest her."  
  
I blink.  
  
"They? Who?"  
  
"The soldiers! Nichols... they have been talking about it. They have something that lets them arrest her... like a paper with letters on it. They are going to her house in the morning, and they couldn't drink, only a little... because they have to go to her house and take her with them to the fort..."  
  
"What did you say? They have a paper? An arrest warrant?"  
  
"I don't know..."  
  
"Which one of them has it?"  
  
She points at Nichols. I cannot believe my luck.  
  
"Sancha, you're my treasure," I say rising from the chair.  
  
"Why do you know my name?" she asks quietly.  
  
"Because I was looking at you standing with them."  
  
"And... and how am I to help you?"  
  
"Look for something to tie him with. A flounce, a corset lace, anything. Yeah, you can tear a flounce from this stupid dress. You're not going to wear a dress outside anyway."  
  
"I'll take a lace as well."  
  
"Anything that pleases you," I say searching through Nichols' jacket. "If you need a knife, just tell me."  
  
She rises from the bed shyly and asks me in a whisper:  
  
"Will... will you really give me a knife?"  
  
"Why not?" I ask impatiently. "But do try with your corset lace first, it's more trustful than a flounce."  
  
She stands for awhile, then whispers again:  
  
"And... and how am I to call you?"  
  
"Ah, really..." I begin and then sigh. "My name's Ritchie Brown."  
  
She doesn't say anything more and starts to unlace her dress. And I find the paper.  
  
'There being complaint this day made by captn Joseph Nichols and captn Philip Somers and lievtenant John Eason of town of St. John's in Behalfe of theire Majesties for themselves and also for severall of their Neighbours against Rose O'Mallory the woman of unknown provenance of town of St. John's for high suspition of sundry acts of witchcraft done or committed by her upon the bodys of Edith Cole and John Cole and Emily Prescott daughter of the abovesaid complainants and John Prescott her husband of town of St. John's whereby great hurt and dammage hath been done to the bodys of persons above named therefore craved a swift justice. You are therefore in theire Majesties names hereby required to apprehend and bring before us Rose O'Mallory...'  
  
I'm grinning slowly and sit on the bed with this paper in my hand. My Captain's lady is accused of witchcraft, and I have her arrest warrant. What a strange feeling. I may return it to Nichols and in the morning the unexpected guests will knock at her gate... I doubt if there will be many soldiers in the escort - maybe only two or three, Nichols included. They don't know that my Captain is visiting her, they are prepared to approach a helpless, unarmed woman. But if the Captain kills the Crown's servants, it may be difficult for us to flee Antigua. If we fight the English law openly, not many harbours on the Spanish Main would remain open to us; Captain Barbossa is already waging war with the Spanish, and if the English turn against him, there won't be much left - only French and Dutch. Lady Rose must be smuggled out of Antigua in secret.  
  
Sancha gives me the lace without a word, and my eyes go again to the unconscious Nichols. Stupid git. Witchcraft, indeed - what a nice ruse to gain a reluctant woman's accord!  
  
I kneel down by him and start to tie his hands. I can tie knots very skilfully, thanks to my recent practice on La Aranha. But it's been awhile and Nichols begins to move.  
  
"He's come back," whispers Sancha, paralyzed with fear once more.  
  
"So what?" I say. "He'll be tied up, and, say, gagged, if he doesn't behave. Easy. Hey, man, are you really awake or what?"  
  
He shakes his head and opens his eyes wide.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" he asks hoarsely. "What do you want? Money?"  
  
Ah... I didn't think of it. Strange. I'm not myself today, definitely.  
  
"It'll come in handy, thank you," I say standing up. "But it's not money that I'm after. I'd like to ask you about lady Rose O'Mallory."  
  
"What?!" he blinks. "Who is she to you?"  
  
"Um, mate, let's say that it's me who's asking questions. I'm not going to kill you, so calm down a little... but only a little, because I may hurt you anyway. And I'm quite likely to change my mind about killing, too."  
  
He leans his head against the wall, watching me. I can tell that he has some cold courage; he's here at my mercy, and I'm pointing my gun at him, and I've just tied him up, yet he's not showing any fear. He's looking at me with narrowed eyes, and I know that he's learning my features now, to remember me and to hunt me down when he's free.  
  
"Alright," he says. "What do you want, then?"  
  
"I want you to tell me what kind of witchcraft is lady Rose accused of commiting."  
  
"Lady Rose..." he snorts. "She's no lady. You must be a stranger here."  
  
"Yes, I am," I say. "And as I don't know your local customs, I don't mind to break your leg or arm, because in the place I'm coming from it's the way we deal with those who don't answer questions."  
  
"Oh, why not. She is said to put a curse on some people. Mainly Coles and Prescotts. Or at least Edith Cole is sure of it. Rose O'Mallory is an only Papist here. And women don't like her, it's that simple."  
  
"But you do like her."  
  
"I did. But she doesn't choose her men from among us." He snickers. "I don't care for her anymore."  
  
He obviously thinks that I'm yet another of lady Rose's suitors, and that I'm jealous. So I smile sweetly and show him the arrest warrant.  
  
"But you're not very eager to help her either, is that right? You're so noble, mate, you'd make me sick right now, but d'you know what? I think that I'll go with this little paper to her first. And you will never see her... nor Sancha."  
  
"Curse you," he hisses. "Who are you? How dare you take an arrest warrant from an officer? You..."  
  
"No time to chat, mate, sorry," I say taking my knife. His eyes widen. "No, don't be afraid. Sancha, some flounces... can I?"  
  
She nods, unable to tear her gaze away from the humiliated and furious Nichols. I cut several flounces off her blue dress and grab Nichols' hair - and he's gagged in one moment. Ah, what a funny evening.  
  
"Now, Sancha, listen to me," I say, "he won't shout or make any noise, but in case he would, I'll leave you my pistol, alright?"  
  
"But I-I don't know... and where are you going?"  
  
"Must bring my mate back with me, or my Capt... my master will kill me. I'll be back in a moment. Look here, you hold it like that -" I point the pistol at Nichols, "and if he tries to move, you cock it here, like that, and then let this little thing go."  
  
She's blinking.  
  
"I'll be back in no time," I say. "I promise he won't move if you point the pistol like that. Yes, here. Between his legs. Most men value this little head more than the big one. Nichols, mate, I hope you understand. The girl has you in her power, and she's no good in shooting, so the chance you'll become a eunuch is, say, fifty-fifty, the rest is you'll become a dead man."  
  
"Wait," says Sancha, "what if somebody comes here?"  
  
"Oh God," I say impatiently, "think a little. Say that somebody's robbed Nichols. Throw the pistol out of the window or hide it. Whatever. I'll be here in a moment."  
  
I run downstairs, to the hall where I left Squall. I must find Sharpe or someone who'd be able to go with me to lady Rose's house. Damn, there's little hope I'll find anyone sober, I know.  
  
The hall is almost empty, without the musicians, without the girls. Most of the guests are gone, probably to the rooms upstairs. Some men are sleeping on the chairs or directly on the floor. Ah, there's Squall - leaned over a table.  
  
"Hey, Squall, mate, wake up! We must go back to lady Rose's house."  
  
"Ummmm..."  
  
"Wake up, idiot! Captain's going to kill us. Come on, I need you! Move!"  
  
"Go t'hell..." he murmurs, as always. I sigh. He's of no use to me, I can see he cannot even stand. I must leave him here. But I'll at least have his pistol and his hat.  
  
When I'm back upstairs, I knock on the door and say:  
  
"It's me, Sancha, come here."  
  
She opens the door, immensely relieved, and I see that she was suspecting that I'd never come back.  
  
"Here's the hat for you," I say and then turn to Nichols. "Sorry, mate, but there's one more thing I must have of you. Sancha, untie him, I have him on my gunpoint."  
  
She's not very pleased that I ask her to come close to Nichols, but does what I said. I take the flounce from his mouth.  
  
"Strip," I say.  
  
"What?!" his face reddens.  
  
"You heard me. Strip or I'll shoot you. In the leg. Oh, it does hurt, mate, believe me. I'm counting to three. Your breeches and coat and boots is all I need, though."  
  
He doesn't protest; he can see that I'm becoming impatient. I allow him to do it himself, because it's much more efficient than if I had to do it; and when he lays his clothes on the chair, I hit him once more so that he's on the floor again, happily unconscious. Sancha looks at it with a strangely sad, melancholic expression.  
  
"Do you pity him or what?" I ask her.  
  
"No, I don't," she says, "but I wonder what he'll do when he wakes up."  
  
"He'll be trying to find us," I say unfastening my breeches.  
  
"What are you doing?!"  
  
"You can't be running through town in this dress," I say. "You'll take my clothes and I'll take his. Quickly. Put this cursed dress off."  
  
She looks very nice in my breeches and coat, but I must adjust her hat - because her face almost disappears behind the broad brim. As for me, it's rather difficult to wear Nichols' breeches, for he's much bigger than me, but I manage to put them on and assure that they would hold on somehow. I take his money and the arrest warrant, and we slid out of the room.  
  
And in the corridor we suddenly encounter Shally - he stops before our door and widens his eyes. It seems he was a little bit anxious about Nichols... or was it about Sancha?... and came here to look if all's well. Now he's utterly startled to see us two, Sancha rounding her shoulders in fear and me, in Nichols' coat and breeches and hat. But before he has a time to react, I shout at Sancha to run, we rush downstairs, outside, then...  
  
"Ah, shit," I say. "I don't know where lady Rose's house is!"  
  
"Don't worry, I know," she pants. "To the left, and straight!"  
  
We're running like mad, without a word, without a sound. We haven't any time now, because Shally has found Nichols and they may appear in lady Rose's house in any moment. Well, they would still need the warrant, but it's probably only a matter of hours. I can see a faint strip of dawn in the sky. We must hurry, we must wake up the whole house. No sense to climb up the garden wall, it's better to bang at the gate.  
  
It takes some time, however, before the gatekeeper opens a little window and shows his terrified face.  
  
"Open the gate, father!" I yell. "It's me. I must see Captain Barbossa and lady Rose, now!"  
  
"What are you doing here?" murmurs the old beard. "You are to be sleeping in the kitchen!"  
  
"Oh, but I am not, you see? I bring bad news. You're all in danger. Let me in, I must speak to the Captain."  
  
Finally he opens the gate and lets us in. Of course, everybody is awake already. Betsy is running around, lighting up the candles, and the Captain is staying on the top of the stairs, fastening his belt. Sancha immediately hids herself behind my back.  
  
"Um, good morning, Captain," I say, paying attention not to come too close to him. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but..."  
  
"No, ye don't need to be sorry, Ritchie," he says with his patient smile. I know this smile, it means that he's furious and is only trying to control himself. "Explain yerself, if ye please. I do believe ye have a good reason to make such a mess of our peaceful night."  
  
I hand him over the arrest warrant without a word and step back quickly. He takes it, blinks and his face changes from the suppressed anger to unsuppressed fury; he reads it very carefully, takes a deep breath and raises his head to look at me. I return this dismayed look with my most innocent one.  
  
"Where the hell did ye take it from?"  
  
"Some stupid officer in... um... in La Rosa Sin Espina."  
  
He shakes his head, half amused, half crossed.  
  
"The brothel? An' what were ye doin' there?"  
  
"I was going to be back before dawn," I say apologingly. "Please, do forgive me, Captain. It was my first night here..."  
  
"Alright. Where's Squall?"  
  
"Um, Captain... he's dead drunk. I couldn't wake him up, so I had to leave him..."  
  
"He went with ye?! An' what's that costume?"  
  
"It's the officer's," I explain. "I had to give my clothes to Sancha... she helped me to find the warrant, Captain."  
  
I can see that he doesn't know if he should slap me or thank me. He's angry, because I went to the brothel and took Squall with me - and it's a grave insubordination; but he's grateful to me as well. And we don't have time. So when lady Rose in a beautiful white deshabilee, full of laces and ribbons, with a chandelier in her hand and slightly swollen red lips, appears on the stairs, he hands her over the warrant with the same gesture I handed it over to him.  
  
She takes it, looks at it and it's delightful to see how her brow furrows, first in dismay, then in anger, how a heavy fire of wrath lights up in her deep black eyes, how her little ears redden.  
  
"What is this, Captain?" she asks, her voice trembling with rage. "What poor stupid soul here is accusing me of witchcraft? Ah, I see! Coles and Prescotts, those pathetic hypocrites!..."  
  
"And a certain officer Nichols was going to arrest you, m'lady," I say innocently.  
  
She looks at me narrowing her eyes.  
  
"How do you know it?"  
  
"I was talking to him, before I smacked him on the head," I say. "He seems to be very disappointed, because you have despised him."  
  
The Captain looks at her with his brows raised.  
  
"Well, he's not first nor the last," she says laughing sweetly. "I can say that the whole male population of the town would be very pleased to see me arrested and on their mercy." She turns to the Captain. "You should be proud of me, Captain, because you are given what so many men were denied."  
  
He lowers his head with a brief laughter and makes a little gesture as if he wants to touch her face, but then his look falls on me - I'm leaning on the handrail - and he yells:  
  
"What are ye starin' at, ye loafer? Run to the docks an' tell Sharpe to prepare the ship!"  
  
"Um, Captain, begging your pardon, I don't know the way," I say, utterly ashamed.  
  
"Ahh, ye don't know the way. But ye found yer way to the brothel rather well."  
  
"But it's because Squall was with me..."  
  
"It's alright, Captain, I'll send the cook," says lady Rose softly. "We can trust him."  
  
I roll my eyes; I'd NEVER trust this grim, taciturn man. They could send me and Sancha, she knows the town.  
  
"No, Ritchie, yer to stay here," says the Captain, "an' yer helping lady Rose to pack her belongings. An' yer to shut up an' not to talk if not asked, or I'll shut ye up for good. Understood?"  
  
"Aye, Captain," I say lowering my eyes.  
  
The next few hours are surprisingly joyful, and even Betsy's sobbing and aimless running to and fro cannot spoil this bright, festive dawn. The sun fills softly high windows and mirrors, lays its warm little carpets on the floor, winks to us in gilt frames and chandeliers. The cook has run to the harbour with Captain's orders, but the rest of the servants are gathered around lady Rose. They are going with her, nobody can stay here, and I can see that they are very anxious about their mistress' fate. There's no complaint, no grievance over leaving Antigua, and all I can hear from them are muttered curses that should kill all the God-fearing town. They act like lady Rose's own faithful crew, packing her belongings instead of their own - and she in turn is stuffing their pockets with her valuables.  
  
We pack lady Rose's dresses, hats and little shoes, mantles, kerchiefs and fans, we gather her gold, ivory, silver and jewels. She seems amused by all this mess, wardrobes and cupboards opened wide, chests giving away their riches, clean mirrors multiplying all this disarray and splendour. We cannot take much, there are only two mules in the whole household, so we must carry things by ourselves. So lady Rose looks through her clothes and orders Betsy and Sancha to wear two beautiful dresses - one of them belonged to my dona Ursula once - then she gives them almost new shoes, and then, laughing, she takes Sancha's hand and slids a heavy enamel bracelet on it. Sancha holds her breath in admiration, and from this moment she's following lady Rose's light steps as in a daze; pure love and devotion is shining in her black eyes.  
  
Lady Rose comes to the Captain with a heavy purse, takes his hand and lets him feel its weight.  
  
"There are over forty golden pieces in it, Captain," she says. "Please give it to all your men as a small apology for our unexpected leaving. I'm sure they will be very bitter about it."  
  
"No, no, 'tis not necessary," he says frowning.  
  
"Oh, but I beg of you, do give it to them. We will be entrusted to their hospitality for at least four days, won't we? And I need to be sure that my two girls will be safe."  
  
"They will be safe well without it," the Captain says, not taking the purse.  
  
"Captain Barbossa," she says laying her both hands on his shoulders, "I'd like to see well-disposed faces around me. I do not doubt that they will exercise your orders without a murmur, but please let me to gild your words with my meagre gold."  
  
She is very firm and serious, looking straightly into his eyes. And as he narrows his green, merciless eyes and nods with a scant smile, I'd swear these eyes change its colour for a moment - from green to blue.  
  
The sun's warmth becomes more and more persistent, but we are almost packed. Lady Rose stands in the middle of her parlour, in a satin red dress, with her hair ruffled and her cheeks flushed, and thinks for a moment; then her eyes flicker.  
  
"Come on," she says, "let's go to the kitchen! You're allowed to take anything you want to eat. There's nothing to be left!"  
  
They rush to the kitchen, eager to stuff all their remaining pockets with pastries, nuts and raisins - I suspect the grim cook of being unnecesarily strict about food rations - only Betsy murmurs something about salt and spices. I don't go with them. It's not my kitchen and not my house; I have no interest for it. I'm pretending to wrap a huge standing clock in a thick shawl, and Sancha is crouching in the corner, looking at the paintings of cats and birds.  
  
"Don't you regret anything?" asks the Captain quietly, when lady Rose is wandering aimlessly around the room. "I cannot see any sadness in ye... not even anger. Yer leaving this place for good, my lady Rose, but ye seem to make a holiday of yer farewell."  
  
She stops in front of a cold fireplace, looks in the mirror and starts to tidy her hair up, but suddenly gives up and stands motionlessly for awhile; then she laughs - a short, not very amused laugh.  
  
"What do you see in this mirror, Captain?"  
  
"I see a beautiful woman."  
  
"Ah, thank you. But I know that I'm not eternal, and my beauty and my joy is not eternal, either. I will fade, Captain, we all will. And it is the only truth I can rely on... it's very reassuring. It tells me not to attach myself to things and places, and to feel lightness, and to laugh when there is no reason to laugh. Why should I feel anything for this little stinking town, pray tell me? Because we spent so many nice moments here together? But Captain, I take all my memories with me - this house is like an empty nutshell to me, I've eaten its sweet kernel. As for the town - I do not care for a place and people that do not want me. And the only thing that I hold dear... it is warm and safe inside my heart and nobody is going to take it away."  
  
The servants come back from the kitchen, a little bit ashamed that the food was such a temptation to them. Lady Rose steps towards them.  
  
"My dear friends," she says, "you do remember how many times I was visited by fat Protestant ladies that wanted me to donate money or jewels to their church?"  
  
"Yes, we do, lady Rose!"  
  
"You remember how many not-so-rich profligate young men wanted to marry me for my money?"  
  
"We do!"  
  
"You remember how many old men wanted to become my guardians - or should I say, guardians of my estate and fortune?"  
  
"Yes, we do!"  
  
"You remember all those people who were so profuse in praises of my paintings and sculptures and furniture and whatever they saw?"  
  
"Yes, we do!"  
  
"Good," she says. "Dear friends, we are leaving this place. Take what you can carry with you, and destroy everything else."  
  
There is a sudden silence. They blink and look at each other; Sancha comes close to lady Rose. The Captain is chuckling quietly.  
  
"Dear friends, this place is dead and we are dead to it. There is nothing here. We are free! If you were afraid to break anything here, if you were cautious not to touch things, because you thought them expensive and fragile, now is a beautiful moment to forget it. And do remember that anything we leave here untouched, goes to the greedy hands of people who turned us adrift."  
  
She takes an iron poker from the fireplace and touches the clean surface of the mirror above almost tenderly.  
  
"Look," she says, "it's a wonderful mirror. I loved it. But it's not mine anymore. Do imagine poor colourless lady Edith Cole standing here. She would love the mirror. But I somehow don't like this thought." She shakes her golden head. "Oh, my poor mirror, I do suffer with you. It pains me to think of lady Edith with you. It's impossible... oh no."  
  
She steps lightly aside and hits the mirror with all her might: the cold tile cracks slowly, with a clean sharp sound. Sancha is the first to laugh, and the servants laugh with her.  
  
"Come on," lady Rose invites us, holding firmly her poker. "I will break the mirrors. And you have the porcelain, faience, crystal and glass. And draperies, beddings, furniture - all that you love or hate. Search and destroy to your heart's content."  
  
During the short mayhem - when potsherds and pieces of glass mix with feathers and splinters, and floor becomes difficult to walk on - the Captain is sitting in the big chair and doesn't take his loving eyes off lady Rose, who is wandering through the room, waving her poker gracefully, with inseparable Sancha by her side. I know what he's thinking - he's admiring her folly and the pirate spirit in her. I like this stare, although it burns me raw, and I'm unable to tear my eyes off his face.  
  
When the cook - Maurice is his name - and Sharpe come to the house, lady Rose is greeting them with her rigid yet sweet dignity, holding the poker like a fashionable umbrella.  
  
"Time to go, then," she says, and then stops suddenly. "Oh, Holy Virgin, forgive me! Tarry! Please, Betsy, be so kind and go fetch her!"  
  
Finally we leave, with the mules burdened just the same as us, lady Rose carrying Tarry's basket and the lute. The streets are still empty and we pay attention not to make any unnecessary noise. When we approach the harbour, the Captain takes the lead, and then he holds lady Rose's hand, helping her to get aboard.  
  
Now he is a host and a master here, finally. He orders Betsy and Sancha to be showed into a small provisionary cabin below; the rest of lady Rose's servants are to sleep next to the two women. Sharpe is yelling at the men loading water and supplies; some of them barely can walk. Sharpe and Squall... yes, it's him!... are ordered to carry lady Rose's possessions into the Captain's cabin. Well, it seems that I'll have to sleep with the crew. Good. I feel that it's better for me to get out of Captain's way...  
  
I suddenly have somebody's heavy hand on my shoulder.  
  
"Where's my pistol an' my hat, ye son of a bitch?!" It's Squall. "Ye bloody left me in that brothel, damn you!"  
  
"Keep your mouth shut, idiot," I whisper. "Do you want Captain or Sharpe to hear you? This night's going to be forgotten, but not when you bray like a donkey!"  
  
But he grabs my coat and throws me against the railing.  
  
"Sharpe's going to kill me, ye rotter, when he finds out that I've lost me pistol!..."  
  
I'm beginning to lose my patience. He's not worth anything; let him think he lost his precious pistol for awhile.  
  
"Did I tell you to get sozzled like stupid? I've tried to wake you up, but you were dead drunk, remember? No, sure, you don't, for there's no place in that dumb head..."  
  
He tries to hit me in the stomach, but I'm faster. Aha, a point for me!... But before I manage to slog him again, I get smacked in my ear so heavily that I have to grab the railing next to me.  
  
"What are ye doin' here, ye dirty dogs, ye two!" roars Sharpe at us. "Why did ye hit Squall, ye cursed brat?!"  
  
"Oh, because he's lost his little pistol and he's blaming me, it's why," I say holding my ear. Squall widens his round eyes.  
  
"Ye. Lost. Yer. Pistol?!" yells Sharpe.  
  
"Aye... no... but it's, I dunno... he took me with 'im, sir!... and..."  
  
"Are we not ready yet?"  
  
Sharpe turns around.  
  
"No, not yet, Capt'n," he says. "The topsail is still not mended. Takes awhile. An' this little dog's just lost his pistol."  
  
The Captain looks at us with a heavy look.  
  
"Which one? Squall?..."  
  
Poor Squall is trembling like a beggar's rag in the wind; he's unable to say anything.  
  
"Aye, Squall, sir. An' he says that it's Ritchie's fault, an' they were fightin'. Me thinks we should leave one of 'em behind. The ship's not careened, the men are tired or drunk, we've enough work on our hands already."  
  
I'm standing with my head lowered so that nobody would see that I'm laughing, in fact.  
  
"Ah, Squall, Squall," the Captain sighs with laughter in his voice. "Calm down, lad, tell me, where did ye lost yer pistol? I didn't hear of it."  
  
Squall drops on his knees, big tears glittering in his eyes.  
  
"Capt'n, sir, please!" he wails. "'Tis true, I've been to the brothel... but I was sleepin', an' Ritchie woke me up, fer he wanted t'go to the brothel an' he didn't know the way!..."  
  
"And why did you listen to me, you poor mongrel?" I interrupt. "Ain't got no brains to think by yourself or what?..."  
  
I get slapped finally - across the face, casually and coldly.  
  
"I'm talkin' with Squall now," says the Captain. "I told ye not to speak when yer not spoken to. Is it so difficult for ye to remember?... Alright. Go on, Squall."  
  
"I... I went with 'im an' I don't know... Capt'n, I swear, I will work an'..."  
  
"Shut up, lad, an' stand on yer feet. Ye will work out yer brothel night, be sure of it. Now ye can tell him, Ritchie, where his pistol is."  
  
"Don't worry, Squall," I say quietly, "your pistol is safe here, along with your hat. I've borrowed them for a moment and given them to that girl... to Sancha."  
  
Squall gapes at me.  
  
"Why didn't ye tell me that?"  
  
"Why, because you wouldn't listen, that's why. Try to think before you cry out, you sissy," I say touching my cheek. Ouch. It seems there won't be a day without beating for me, as long as lady Rose is aboard.  
  
The Captain casts me a warning look.  
  
"Let it be a lesson to ye, Squall, lad," he says. "Now be off to work. And yer to bring somethin' to eat for lady Rose an' me, Ritchie."  
  
Ah, great, you want to show her my new bruise. How nice, I think now serving them both in the little cabin. Why the hell me?... Can't he order Betsy to pour the wine? Oh no, of course, she cannot go among those poor starving gobs.  
  
The bright new day has finally come in all its glory, the harbour was of course awake long ago. I feel tired, and I can see that the Captain and his lady are not very refreshed either. Lady Rose is glumly playing with the wine leavings, the Captain is drawing circles on the table with his knife. The cabin is becoming more and more quiet, the harbour noises more and more audible.  
  
And then Sharpe storms into the cabin.  
  
"Capt'n," he says, panting, "all town is talkin' 'bout lady Rose's escape an' 'bout them soldiers comin' here!"  
  
"Comin' here?" asks the Captain. "To La Aranha?"  
  
"Aye. Somebody has seen a woman in a red dress comin' onboard yer ship, Captain. They're goin' to check if it's true."  
  
The Captain swears loudly.  
  
"Aren't we ready to sail off?"  
  
"No, Capt'n, beggin' yer pardon... We would need a whor... a wench who'd testify that she's spent the night with ye on the ship."  
  
"Alright. We must bring a wench here, then."  
  
"There's no way we can pick up a clever an' sober one in this time o'day."  
  
"Sure enough. An' they do know Becky... an' they know that little one that Ritchie brought with him..." the Captain's eyes go to me and he smiles suddenly.  
  
"No worry," he says. "Go an' tell the men to haste. We have to be ready to sail off as soon as the soldiers leave the ship. An' I guarantee they will leave it quickly."  
  
Sharpe looks at the Captain, then at me, and sudden understanding brings a cruel smile to his face.  
  
"Aye, Capt'n," he says and goes out of the cabin.  
  
Lady Rose stands up.  
  
"What are you going to do, Captain?" she asks, and it's the first time I can see fear in her eyes.  
  
"I can now satisfy yer previous curiosity," he says with a mocking bow. "Ye remember the little tale about a Spanish maid I've told ye, now I can show ye the illustration as well."   
  
He turns to me and I screw up my lips. What else will I have to bear with this man? But I know there is no way out; I must pass for a whore in the soldiers' eyes. Alright, Captain, you know there is nothing I can refuse you.  
  
"Oh, Captain," she says, "are you going to... to make..." and she blushes suddenly, trying not to look at me.  
  
"Aye, I am goin' to make Ritchie play a lil' tavern girl." Ah, at least you're trying not to use the word. How nice of you, indeed.  
  
"Are you going to use this?" she asks angrily, taking thick satin pleats of her skirt.  
  
"No, no need for this. I've forgotten his dead lady's dress o'er there," he says gesturing towards the screen. "It's scarlet an' he can wear it. What are ye waitin' for?" he snaps at me. "Move on, for Christ's sake!"  
  
I smile, thinking of this shameless liar, while I'm changing my clothes behind the screen. 'I've forgotten the dress', sure! What did you leave it for, Captain? I'd bet you are going to make me wear it and then to fuck me, some day when we're far away at sea. Well, as you wish... but there's no reason to be angry with me now just because you're thinking about not very proper plans of your own.  
  
I loosen my hair and come from behind the screen just as I did several days before. Lady Rose looks me up and down; she has a very grave and hard expression.  
  
"Oh, really," she says, "now I'm ready to believe that we may succeed. Let me see..."  
  
She takes my hand and leads me to the window; I squint my eyes at the sudden light, and she whispers in dismay:  
  
"Oh no, what did you do, Ritchie?"  
  
"What the hell did he do this time?" asks the Captain, irritated again and ready to smack me on the head.  
  
Lady Rose shields me from him quickly.  
  
"He has bruises all over his face, Captain. This one I remember from yesterday, but this one is fresh. Sweet Virgin, there's no way he will pass for a girl with these! What happened?" she turns to me.  
  
I shrug my shoulders. A whore with bruises, what a kickshaw indeed! The Captain is of the same mind, because he says grinning:  
  
"'Tis a lil' matter of discipline, my lady Rose. A tavern wench may need a few slaps as well."  
  
But she somehow doesn't seem to like the idea of it.  
  
"What a nonsense, Captain," she says sharply. "I don't want anyone to think that you may have beaten a girl and I don't think you would. No, we won't have it. Wait."  
  
The Captain rolls his eyes and I stand by the window watching my dirty hands, when lady Rose comes back with a little box.  
  
"Sit here, Ritchie," she says.  
  
Ah, a powder and a lipstick! I smile wickedly.  
  
"No, don't move and don't smile! You'll be a pretty girl in no time."   
  
She empties the box on the altar cape. The Captain looks at us with an inscrutable expression, with his arms crossed, while I half-close my eyes and give myself into lady Rose's delicate hands. She's covering my bruises cautiously, I feel her fingertips on my cheek and then on my lips. I hold my breath and I can hear that the Captain sighs ever so slightly. I cross my eyes to look at him - he watches us, unmoving yet dangerously attentive.  
  
The door opens again and I hear Sharpe's voice:  
  
"Capt'n, would ye come here for awhile?"  
  
Lady Rose holds her hand still for a moment. I open my eyes.  
  
"Yes," she says in a whisper, "I think you can go like this."  
  
"I'll wait until the Captain calls me," I say.  
  
She gathers her toilet things into the box, not looking at me. I know she wants to tell me something - to wish me luck? To ask me for help? But at the same time she knows it's not necessary, because we are bound anyway: the Captain, she and me. I must do my best and I will, she can be sure of it, because I'm not doing it for her, but for the Captain alone.  
  
Sharpe opens the cabin.  
  
"Aww, the hell," he says astonished, "yer a devil, Ritchie, or what? C'mon, come to us. Aha, the Captain says yer name is Paquita."  
  
"Whatever," I say with a sigh and let Sharpe grab my hand rather unceremoniously. Ah, damn, I've forgotten how to walk in a dress again!  
  
"She's still a lil' bit drunk, officer," says the Captain saving me from a fall and holding me in place, "not to mention that she's mighty tired too."  
  
I hear a knowing laugh and I raise my eyes only to see Shally with five soldiers. Oh, joy. I feel dizzy.  
  
"Now, now, do try and stand straight, jewel," says the Captain, closing his ironlike grip on my left arm.  
  
"Please forgive me, Captain," I say with a soft voice - I can not only sing, I can do many things with it. "It's soooo bright outside, an' 'tis been a long time since I've seen such a bright sun. I am a creature of the... of the night, you see." And I look down modestly, trying to fight my laugh.  
  
The soldiers start to chuckle looking at me, and my mateys are already dying with laughter, although for entirely different reasons. The Captain loosens his grip and gives me an amused, tender glance.  
  
"Don't ye worry, sweet one," he says, "yer goin' back to bed soon. Officer Shally - was it so? - just wanted to make sure that you're not a lady in disguise."  
  
"Oh, a lady? Me? You must be joking, good officer," I say looking at Shally pleadingly. "God only knows how much I'd like to be a pro... proper lady, anythin' that would please nice gentlemen like you, and the Captain!... but seein' that I cannot... but it doesn't really matter, b'cause such a fine man like the Captain fancies me anyway! So, um... seein' that he fancies me after all, I don't need to be no lady an' I'm s-so happy that I cannot even tell you, an' jus' have a look at me!... The Captain allows me to wear such a m-magnifi... cient dress... doesn't it make me a lady to you?..."  
  
At last even serious Shally starts to smile; the Captain stands before him with a half-embarrassed, half-amused expression, and I'm wagging my tongue like a lunatic, feeling Captain's arm around me. Ah, it's the first time he embraced me, the first time when I'm wrapped in his warmth, not just scalded with his fire - and I find myself clinging desperatedly to him, pressing my whole body to him, leaning my head on his arm. It's the only chance for me to be so helplessly close to him, the only moment when I can be sure that he will not thrust me away. If I'm allowed to touch him only when I play a whore for him, so what, worse luck!... I'm not going to complain. I just want a little of this warmth in return. He has so much of it, lady Rose cannot exhaust it all. Oh, I will wait until she leaves La Aranha, I will wait as long as he wants me to...  
  
"Alright, Captain, I apologize for disturbing you," says Shally with a sigh. "If you say that this little Paquita is the only woman that is present on the ship... I believe you."  
  
"Thank you, officer," says the Captain and I stiffen. Is Shally already leaving? Because if he is, then... I try to step aside. But the Captain is not loosening his embrace, and I start to fear that he's going to lose his temper this time. What was I doing here? I've almost got into his breeches!  
  
He finally lets me go when the soldiers vanish into the harbour crowd. I cast him a sly, anxious glance, only half-aware of the crew swarming around us and praising my acting skills.  
  
"Get back to work!" the Captain yells at them. "We're sailing off soon! Sharpe," he turns to the second-in-command, "we should wait an' see if the soldiers aren't going to be back and check if everythin' is alright."  
  
"Aye, Captain."  
  
"Go to the cabin an' wait," he says not looking at me. "Don't put the dress off."  
  
But the soldiers don't come back, and we can set sail in peace. Lady Rose helps me to wash off the grim, laughing and joking, but the Captain is silent and sullen, and when I'm again my previous self, he orders me to go away and sleep.  
  
"What do you mean, to sleep, Captain?" I ask, dismayed completely.  
  
"Ye don't understand the word or what? Go an' take some rest. Ye may come here in the evening. An' wash yer hands before ye touch the dishes, for God's sake."  
  
"Aye, Captain," I say with a sigh and go away.  
  
When I'm laying down on the thin blanket in the crew's quarters - I didn't realize how tired I've been! - somebody sits next to me. Squall.  
  
"Hey, mate," he greets me briefly.  
  
"Um, hey," I say surprised.  
  
"Want somethin' to eat? I've got some bread from the galleys."  
  
"No, thank you. I'll sleep for awhile."  
  
"Ye looked good in that dress," he chuckles.  
  
"I'm not going to thank you for it."  
  
"Ah, I know. See, Bucky said yer a devil."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"'Cause ye don't look like a man or like a woman. Yer like, he says, both. Jus' like devils that can change their shape."  
  
"Your Bucky is stupid, mate," I say feeling a heavy sleep overcoming me finally. "I wish I were a devil... I truly wish I were."  
  
tbc 


	5. Parting gifts

Disclaimer: "Pirates of the Caribbean" belong to Disney. Now there's a handful of songs that are not mine either: "When night falls" by Princess Walladah, "Wine and roses" by her lover ibn Zaydun, "En la fuente del rosel" by Diego Pisador and "Teresica hermana" by Mateo Flecha.  
  
A/N: Princess Walladah and ibn Zaydun are two medieval poets from 11th century Cordoba. Both of them were quite renowned and their poems were made into songs in several modes and styles - and though it's doubtful that Ritchie would have known classical Andalusian poetry, there is a chance he'd have known the songs. Both songs used in this fic are sung in nahawand mode (a 'mode', or 'maqam' is a tone scale specific to Arabic music), my favourite - I simple couldn't resist. Bear with me, 'earties, yo ho!  
  
I thank my all reviewers and readers, especially Alteng and Mint Condition (to whom I'm very grateful for a certain little metaphor. Thank you, love).  
  
-----------------------------  
  
V   
  
Cats know everything, I think, looking at little Tarry playing with a piece of rope. I've slit its end, so it's now furry and therefore very interesting. She's jumping after it like mad, and when I let her have it, she lays on her back holding it triumphantly in her tiny paws.  
  
She knows that her mistress doesn't have time to play with her. She understood it very quickly - much more quickly than I would; she gave up a hopeless fight - something that I was unable to do. And then, being a courageous little kitten, she left the basket, then the cabin, and went for a reconnaissance of a new territory, leaving her mistress with my master.  
  
"You don't have any ambition, do you?" I say to her, when she's rubbing her round little head on my boots. She seems to like me for some strange reason. "Go back there and ruin their sweet evening."  
  
She's not paying attention. Well, what do I have left? I'm on my first night watch and since nothing is going to happen anyway, I may play with this carefree cat. Ah, maybe she knows that worrying is not necessary; maybe she knows that her mistress will soon belong to her alone. I should learn from her, cats know everything. She could cooperate a little, though.  
  
"No, no purring," I say scratching her between ears. "I'd be much obliged if you went back to the cabin and made some nice catcall. What say you? Scratching things and people would do as well."  
  
"Fer God's sake, mate," I hear suddenly, "lost yer mind or what? Yer talking to a cat!"  
  
"Hey, Squall," I say. "I like this cat, so I'm talking to her. What's so strange in it?"  
  
"B-but it's an animal... it doesn't understand ye, right?"  
  
"How do you know?" I grin. "Sometimes animals make humans look pretty stupid. They always know what to do. Especially cats. This one does nothing and her mistress still loves her. I'd like to see you to do this trick with anybody."  
  
Squall blinks, he doesn't know what to say.  
  
"Anyway, mate, stop it," he whispers nervously. "It's night, an' yer talking to a black cat. Remember what I told ye? Some fellows don't like ye, they think yer, like... um..."  
  
I roll my eyes. It's true that after my unexpected discovery of the arrest warrant in La Rosa Sin Espina, and after my little performance in the scarlet dress the attitudes of the crew have changed again. They think me devilish and uncanny. Some of them started to hate and fear me openly. I've heard several voices regretting that they hadn't got rid of me in the beginning. They should've fucked me and then killed me immediately and not let me stay on La Aranha. Or at least, as Bleeding Hand said, they should've fucked me at least, because I wouldn't be parading around so insolently now.  
  
All that rubbish doesn't worry me in the slightest, because I know that their frustration will go away when we land on St. Thomas, where they would again have a chance to get themselves some girls. I just make a mental note to dispose of Bleeding Hand as quickly as possible.  
  
"Uhm, yeah, I know," I say absent-mindedly. "Always knew there are some big specimens of idiots among them. You can tell them so and then watch them quarrel, trying to prove they aren't idiots, and kill each other in the end."  
  
Squall shakes his head.  
  
"Ritchie, mate," he says, "I don't believe yer a devil, but ye'd better take care. Ye don't respect people an' yer playin' with 'em. 'Tis may end bad fer ye, man."  
  
"Squall, son, what did you eat today?"  
  
"Ah, damn you," he says and leaves me alone.   
  
Poor Squall, he's trying to warn me, but I don't care for his warnings. I'm sick at heart. I don't care for anything. I'd like to kill somebody; I still have to use my pistol for the first time. I'm tired of seeing happiness, I'd like to see some blood; it may be mine as well.  
  
How can anybody think that I'm able to play with people? I was trying to play with my Captain and I failed; then I was trying to be honest and I failed; nothing works with him, anything I try, I try in vain. He sees me through and he pretends he doesn't understand me; he just refuses to play by my rules.  
  
He felt something like pity for me yesterday, I'm sure. I don't know what moved him so. I was standing by his side in the scarlet dress of my dead lover, playing a little whore for him, laughing, saying things that were utter nonsense to anybody but him and me, leaning on his arm and reminding him how my body feels like. I succeeded; it was easy. I've saved his ladylove, making fun of my own fate, and he must have understood it. But all I've got from him was that cheap pity: 'go to sleep, Ritchie'. Aha!... And you stay with your precious lady and give her every valuable thing that you have in your one-sided heart.  
  
When I came back in the evening - to bring them supper and to prepare the cabin for the night - they were so engulfed in their own little world that they didn't even notice me. I was standing behind their chairs, pouring them wine and moving plates nearer, without a sound and without a word. And in the end I began to regret that I had washed my hands before touching their dishes. If I was dirty enough, the Captain would at least yell at me. Damn, I thought, I'm not a servant for these newlyweds! I wasn't born to be a servant or a timid labourer, or any creature humbly working for his daily bread, I'm not somebody to stand in the shadow cap-in-hand!  
  
So I've dropped the tray for a beginning. And what did I get? A merciful glance from lady Rose and a brief, gruff 'get out' from the Captain. And what could I do? I got out and learned from Sharpe that I'm to keep the last dog watch; and then I was called back by the Captain to take the dishes to the galleys. That was all.  
  
The next morning - this morning - proved to be more interesting. Lady Rose was a little bit pale, it seemed she didn't bear sea voyage well. The Captain was casting her anxious glances throughout breakfast. She almost didn't eat, her long white fingers were playing with a small piece of bread; she had her eyes fixed on the table cape and was silent for most of the time. I saw charts prepared already on the little table under the window. Yes, lady, he doesn't have time to be with you all day round; he's a captain and he has his tasks to fulfill, I thought looking at lady Rose's golden head, leaned tiredly on one side, and her nervous fingers on the bread.  
  
I sighed to myself, waiting patiently for her to finish eating. I'm not allowed to eat myself before I finish serving the Captain and cleaning the cabin. I've never found it difficult to bear, because the Captain is always very fast with eating, but I was beginning to lose my patience with lady Rose sitting sickly at the table. I sighed again, and then caught Captain's look.  
  
Narrowed green eyes. He wasn't in a good mood, apparently not accustomed to his lady being silent and mopish like that. Or was it just a humble presence of mine? Maybe both... and I was looking annoyingly well, compared to lady Rose. I'm not that delicate and I don't care if I'm on land or at sea. I'm a better companion, am I not, Captain?...  
  
But as much as I previously wanted him to notice me, he scared me this time. He looked really irritated and I felt that he's only waiting for me to give him an excuse, and he'd be delighted to wreak his anger on me. I sensed that it's not safe to provoke him and lowered my eyes quickly, but not quickly enough.  
  
"Don't pretend yer awake, ye lazy cad!" he snapped at me. "Move yerself, clean the cabin. Ye can take the dishes after. Yer not here to finish yer night sleep!"  
  
I smiled to myself and went to open and clean the windows. It was a truly unpleasant, cloudy morning: the sea and the sky both had the colour of steel, and the ship was being rocked rather heavily. The Captain was waiting for lady Rose to finish, but had to come out of the cabin when Sharpe called him. I went to clean the bed, and in this moment lady Rose turned to me and said in a subdued voice:  
  
"No, Ritchie, don't touch it. I will do this. Go and clean that window - " she pointed to the window on the other end of the cabin.  
  
Those were the first words she spoke to me that morning.  
  
I glanced over at the cursed bed. What is that? First the Captain forbids me to sit on it, then she is forbidding me even to touch it. Is it sacred or what? Did they make an altar out of it? Would I defile it? Well, lady, then you'd better run away from the chair you are sitting in, for your lover did - oh - order me to kneel on it once when he was taking me.  
  
"That window has been cleaned already," I said innocently. It was a lie, but what the heck.  
  
"It may have been cleaned," she said sharply, "but it is not clean. Leave the bed alone and go and clean the window."  
  
"As you wish," I said and went to the window.  
  
The Captain came back to the cabin and frowned at lady Rose still seated by the table. She saw this frown and sighed quietly.  
  
"I've almost finished," she said. "Where is water? I'd like to wash my hands."  
  
I opened the window making as much noise as possible.  
  
"Ritchie?... I'd like to have some water."  
  
"It's very close to you, m'lady," I said. "I'm cleaning the window and my hands are dirty."  
  
She pressed her long fingers to her temples for a brief moment, then stood up and went around the table to take the water. The Captain glanced at us from over his charts, and I felt rather than saw his little cruel smile.  
  
Lady Rose washed her fingers in a small bowl and then sat back in her chair without a word. I cast her a look over my shoulder and saw that she is watching me, openly and mockingly.  
  
"It's true you... your hands are very dirty," she said with a little sigh, when I couldn't pretend anymore that I'm cleaning the window and went to the table. "But I cannot see the difference... they were the same before breakfast."  
  
"We don't have water enough to spare on the likes of me," I said. "And working people don't wash as often as ladies do. Begging your pardon, m'lady, can I take the dishes back?..."  
  
She blushed and the Captain, who left his charts and was going to go out of the cabin, probably to talk to Sharpe again, stopped next to me.  
  
"Yer to wait here until lady Rose leaves the table," he said threateningly. "She hasn't finished her breakfast yet."  
  
"Right," I murmured. "Maybe I could help her."  
  
"What did ye say?..."  
  
"Nothing, Captain," I said taking a step back, just in case.  
  
"Oh, good. Ye'd better watch yer tongue."  
  
"What a gloomy morning," said lady Rose in a conversational tone, when the Captain left the cabin finally. "To tell the truth, I don't feel like finishing my breakfast. Are you hungry, Ritchie?"  
  
What's wrong with these two? They seem to think in the same way.  
  
"No, I'm not hungry."  
  
"Really?" she said, raising her brows. And my stupid stomach betrays me as usual.  
  
"Oh look, you ARE hungry! Sit here and eat something."  
  
Aha, you want the Captain to kill me when he's back and sees that I'm sitting and eating with his ladylove?  
  
"No, thank you, m'lady, you're too kind," I said. "I may be hungry, but I'm not after your leftovers."  
  
"You don't sound very believable, Ritchie," she said with a little smile. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. You're less reluctant in helping yourself when I'm not here, I presume."  
  
"Well, I'm doing my best, m'lady, thank you," I said. "But still, I'd rather take these dishes back to the galleys and have my meal there."  
  
"Are you afraid of the Captain?" she said with an understanding smile, crooking her head a little.  
  
"Why should I be afraid of him?" I asked with a sudden feeling of humiliation.  
  
"I can soften him, don't worry. He's a bit too harsh with you."  
  
"No, he's not, m'lady. It's the way things are. And I'm no girl and don't need to be treated as such."  
  
"But you can play a girl very well," she said without a smile.  
  
"Can I take the bloody dishes to the galleys?" I asked loudly.  
  
"Not before I rip yer foul tongue out."  
  
We didn't notice the Captain. He was standing at the door - and evidently heard my last words. But I was so embittered that I didn't even move when he took me by the collar and dashed me against a wall.  
  
"What did I tell ye, ye stinky little bastard? I told ye to wait for lady Rose to finish her breakfast, an' yer bein' saucy when ye think that I don't hear ye! An' ye didn't even clean the bed?!..."  
  
Lady Rose, who was sitting horrified for awhile, started up from her chair, run around the table and caught his hand in her two little hands.  
  
"Please, Captain, stop it!" she shouted. "It's not..."  
  
"Go away an' sit there," he said coldly. "You are a guest on my ship an' nobody is goin' to forget it."  
  
"But Captain, the bed... it's not Ritchie's fault! It's me... I've told him to leave it to me." She shook her golden head sadly. "It's an awful, awful day. I know this cabin is too little for us two and it's a huge inconvenience for you to have me here all the time... and this ship rocking makes me sick..."  
  
He sighed, smiled and let me go, then took lady Rose's hands in his.  
  
"An' what else will ye say, my poor lil' lady Rose? I know yer sea-sick, I know. We will be at St. Thomas in no time. Two, three days more. I'd like to have ye here as long as ye want, but it seems yer not destined to live on sea. It pains me to see yer sufferin' like that, an' ye shouldn't suffer any more. An' don't defend him, he's not worth it."   
  
He glared over at me - I was trying to staunch blood from my nose and answered him with a look of an oppressed innocence.  
  
"But it was me who told him not to clean the bed," said lady Rose in a small voice. He made an impatient move, but she didn't let him go. "And... please, do forgive him, Captain. It's... he's hungry, that's why..."  
  
It didn't help me, of course.  
  
"He's always hungry, he should have it beaten out of his head!"  
  
"No, please don't, Captain," said lady Rose blushing and barring his way. It was delightful to watch her, she looked very sweet; I smiled with my hand under my nose. "Please, my head is aching so much already."  
  
The Captain sighed.  
  
"Ah, my lady Rose," he said, "ye have a headache, he's bleedin', I feel like in a nursery. Go an' try to sleep, 'tis the only advice I can give ye. An' yer to apologize an' thank lady Rose for pleadin' for ye."  
  
"I apologize, m'lady, please forgive me," I said lowering my head. "I said too much. I'm sorry, I should have clean the bed first, as you told me."  
  
She widened her eyes. The Captain laughed.  
  
"Ye lied to save his skin? Yer too nice for him. Next time ye don't clean the bed, Ritchie, ye go without eatin' all day. An' now take the dishes an' get outta here."  
  
Now I am laughing to myself, recalling the furious look she gave me. She was immensely angry that I didn't want her pity. Well, I don't need it. I don't need her to defend me. The more pity she is feeling for me, the more humiliation I feel. What have I ever done to her to be pitied like that? It bloody hurts.  
  
She didn't speak a word to me after that breakfast and finished her dinner and supper very quickly. She was apparently not well and spent all day in bed; the Captain tried to cheer her up and told her that tomorrow weather is likely to be good. She smiled painfully, not very convinced. Finally I felt sorry for her and was going to propose bringing little Sancha over here (who was very bored under the deck, trying to play cards with Betsy, the cook and the rest of lady Rose's court), but the Captain told me to shut up in the moment when I opened my mouth, and threw me hurriedly out of the cabin.  
  
The wind has calmed down and the waves don't rock the ship so much anymore, and some shy stars have shown up in the sky. I'm playing with little Tarry, waiting for Sharpe to change me. Two days. Two days more and we land on St. Thomas. And then what? We probably stay there to careen the ship and to settle up lady Rose's household - buy some estate, maybe. And all the crew must have their turn of drink and debauchery. Let's say, a week?... I just should patiently wait and then I will be alone with the Captain again.  
  
"Only a week!..." I say to Tarry. She meows. And all of a sudden I hear a muffled giggle from the cabin. I strain my ears. It seems that lady Rose has recovered from her all-day illness. Oh, it's not just a giggle; she is laughing and talking rather loudly, and her voice is clear and strong. She pauses from time to time, but I can't hear the Captain. Gosh, it's late. They should go to sleep. Or wait, are they...  
  
In the next moment I'm glued to the wooden wall of the cabin. I still have some time of my watch left; and I deserve amusement today. Oh no, Captain Barbossa, you will not get rid of me so easily. You can spend some time with your beloved lady, but she will go away, and I am here because of you, for you and with you.  
  
"But Captain, I DO feel better. So much better! I can't believe I was so ill today... oh, I was such a nuisance! I haven't spent such an empty day for years. By God, Coles and Prescotts own me for this!"  
  
"Aye, they own ye indeed, my lady Rose. But ye still look pale. Ye'd better..."  
  
"No, no, no, Captain. I must requite you... please, give me your hand... here." Her sweet voice becomes mischievous again; she laughs quietly and the Captain laughs with her. "Ahh... you see? My face may be pale... but here, look..."  
  
There is silence for awhile, and then -  
  
"... here is the rose that is fresh and moist and sweet. Or... do you... think otherwise?..."  
  
He answers her in a very, very quiet and amused voice, but I cannot hear him. What is he doing to her?... A rose?... A ros... ah, wait!...  
  
"Or am I making a nuisance of myself now, Captain?..."  
  
"I wish ye be such a nuisance as long as ye like... Now come here, lil' skittish lady."  
  
'Come here'? But where is she now? I hear the rustle of her satin dress. She was very close to me, then. Oh, please, just a small chink for me!... But I can't find anything and soon have to resort only to listening.  
  
First it's mainly lady Rose's voice. She is laughing with a deep, guttural laugh, and she sounds happy and contented like a turtledove in the sun; sometimes her laugh stops and I can hear her pant. He is talking to her, I recognize his voice full of that strange warmth, but I don't understand his words; they soon become muffled and I imagine him burying his face in lady Rose's golden hair. And then there comes lady Rose's first "aaah", almost sung in full voice, prolonged and clear.  
  
Her voice is beautiful indeed, there is a melody in her lovemaking, as if she were playing and singing - playing an instrument that is her man, singing out her inner tune. Is he just listening to her? I cannot hear him, and I guess that it's not their first time today, because there is no haste, no thirst in them. Where are they?... The bed is there, but they are not in bed. The table?... Ah, I see - it's the chair.  
  
Yes, it's the very chair lady Rose was sitting in today, the chair that the Captain and me had once been using. Now I can imagine her... no, I can imagine him in the embrace of her long legs and delicate hands. She didn't take her dress off, it's covering his breeches and boots; he's kissing her rosy face, her white neck, her breasts and her round knees that are so close to his lips. He doesn not need to move, he is watching her move. He is looking at her, kissing her, touching her, talking to her... He loves her. I know it already.  
  
And then she stops laughing and her voice rises as if in a bewilderment, and I hear one sharp cry; then there is silence and only after awhile I recognize Captain's voice - he is calling her name.  
  
Ah, it's only now that he comes. She is first. She is more important than him, it must be her who is to be satisfied and not him. He is thinking of her pleasure. I haven't ever imagined he can let the other come first. Ah, so this is how it should be with him. And what are they doing now?... I cannot hear a sound. They must sit together, exhausted, sleepy and happy. Ah, so this is how it should be... He doesn't thrust her away, he doesn't leave her in a hurry, he doesn't want to be alone soon after he reaches his satisfaction. He wants to feel her still.  
  
"Mmm?..."  
  
"Tomorrow... do you think it will be better?"  
  
"Ye mean, the weather? It'll be splendid."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"I've been living at sea long before ye knew what sea is, lil' lady."  
  
"Uhm... I was mean today... to your cabin boy. Poor thing! I just wanted to tease him, but it turned out badly..."  
  
He murmurs something and I can say that it's not a pleasant subject to him... or to me, for that matter. Why should I make my appearance in their bed talk?  
  
"No, how can you?... It's me who should apologize, in fact. I was telling the truth with the bed. I didn't want him to touch it, I don't know why." She laughs. "Or maybe I do."  
  
The Captain chuckles.  
  
"So it's him who was lyin'? Why?"  
  
"Oh, I can see he's furious, because he thinks that I pity him, and he doesn't want my pity."  
  
"Why should ye pity him?" I can imagine the Captain frown.  
  
"Because he is defenceless..."  
  
Me? Defenceless? Oh, wait, lady...  
  
"... or at least he looks like that. But it's a pleasure to fence with him - he always picks up the glove."  
  
Now it's better. But...  
  
"Aye, he's way too shrewd for his own good."  
  
"But you do like him, Captain, don't you?"  
  
"Ah, my lady Rose," there is a trace of irritation in Captain's voice, "there's many more pleasant things to talk about... nearly everything."  
  
"Captain, you do not need to pretend. Can't you see that Ritchie is in love with you?"  
  
What the hell?!... Where has that ridiculous idea come from? What does she know of me and why does she care? I'm no girl, lady Rose, I'm not a threat to you; I'm not in love, and the most important thing is that your Captain is not in love with me - can you please leave me alone?  
  
"Ah, me lil' lady, what are ye talkin' about in the middle of the night?..."   
  
And he bursts into laughter.  
  
"Captain Barbossa, I am not blind. He's watching you all the time. He'd do anything only to be close to you, can't you see that?"  
  
"Look, lady Rose," he says sharply, "he has no reason to... there is no... ah, bollocks. Let's go to sleep."  
  
"Captain, please, look at me."  
  
There is a long silence and finally the Captain laughs again.  
  
"Alright. I believe ye, lil' lady. What do ye want me to do with Ritchie, then?"  
  
"What would you do with him?" she asks searchingly.  
  
"What, d'ye want me to kill him?"  
  
"Would you?..." she whispers. "How?"  
  
My hands are becoming cold.  
  
"If ye want, I can shoot him in the morning." The Captain's voice is a little bit too jaunty.  
  
"Can you really?..."  
  
"I am the captain here."  
  
"Will you kill Ritchie Brown tomorrow then, Captain?"  
  
I hold my breath, but the thumping of my heart doesn't allow me to hear what is going on in the cabin. For the Captain doesn't say anything; there is a brief silence - maybe he kissed her, maybe he touched her cheek - and then he laughs shortly, as if embarrassed.  
  
She chuckles inexpectedly.  
  
"Is that a 'no'?"  
  
"Ah, yer a stubborn little lady. If ye insist..."  
  
"Sure I do. And then please kill all your crew, and we will sail together in search of Utopia. Only two of us."  
  
They are laughing now. So it was only a test? What is it with these two? Why do they like to play with others so much? Ah, it was a pleasant alteration to see the Captain being examined... but he was right, uh, it wasn't a nice subject at all.  
  
The next morning is truly beautiful, the sea calm, the wind friendly. Lady Rose smiles to me, when I'm serving her, but I'm doing my best trying not to look at her and playing a modest and discreet servant that is not to be seen nor heard. I want her to forget about me. Her yesterday words might have been nothing more than some half-joke, the Captain may have been unwilling to get rid of me, but I'd rather be off lady Rose's way.  
  
She is a little bit dismayed by my seriousness and gives me an inquiring glance. I don't answer, of course, and when I'm on my way out of the cabin, she stops me.  
  
"Wait, Ritchie, I have something for you."  
  
I blink. Something for me?  
  
She takes my sleeve rather unceremoniously and places something in my hand. Lute strings!  
  
"I almost forgot," she says with a laugh.  
  
"Change the strings now," says the Captain with a generous nod. "We don't have musicians except ye an' Squall. An' a pirate vessel without music is an unsuccesful one."  
  
"Aye, Captain," I say happily and flee out of the cabin. I've forgotten the lute. It's not such an excellent thing like the one that lady Rose has just received from the Captain, but it still can do. And when I have an instrument to play, I cannot grieve much, I cannot even think of myself. I'm away.  
  
"Hey, Squall, mate," I shout to him, "we're going to make a little consort from now on. Take the drum. And remember, the first day we're on land, we have to find somebody who can play fiddle, and lure him onto the ship, alright?"  
  
"Ye mean, when we land on St. Thomas?"  
  
"Ah, anywhere, mate. Just remember it."  
  
It takes me some time to replace the strings, but the work is finally over, and I try the first loose accords. It's been a long time since I was allowed to play something at my free will - if not to count the duel between lady Rose and me - and now I have to keep away all my favourite melodies and songs that start to hum around my head, demanding that I play them. Oh well, I'm just trying the new strings, I can do anything I please. I give up and let the melodies take over - my hand taps the lute box lightly, picking up a lascivious Andalusian tune. Squall widens his eyes when I start to sing - I cannot speak Arabic, but I know some songs in it. Ah, let's sing about the night of passion - this poem was written by Princess Walladah when she was still in love.  
  
"Hey, mate, what's this?" exclaims Squall. He's delighted, his eyes are shining. I've underestimated him; the fellow knows what is good in music.  
  
"Nice song, isn't it?"  
  
"Mate, 'twas very good, but... um... what was it?"  
  
"An Andalusian song. I've learnt it when was in Istanbul... it's a long story."  
  
"Ye mean it's what... Arabic? Never heard nothin' like that. What was it about?"  
  
""Expect me when night falls,  
  
For the night is the best for hiding our secrets,  
  
If the stars could feel my passion for you,  
  
They would not go for their night journey,  
  
The sun would not shine, the moon would not rise.'"  
  
"Ah, this is good, mate!"  
  
"You think? It's easy to learn," I say. Squall gulps. Ah, the playful, sweet, cheerful nahawand mode, it's really easy to fall in love with you.   
  
"D-do you know more of these?"  
  
"Ah, sure. Listen, try to catch the rhythm, alright?"  
  
"Must listen to more, an' I can try then."  
  
Some of the pirates are gathering shyly around us. They seem to like it. Oh, good, maybe I can count on them when we need a new musician. I smile; the sun has risen for me, the previous night seems to be so far away.  
  
"This one is 'bout loooove too, you know."  
  
"I'd prefer some with love," says Squall. Whee, it seems he met a nice girl in La Rosa Sin Espina. Too bad that he cannot see her again.  
  
"What about the rhythm?"  
  
"Sing some more, I'll see."  
  
The door of the Captain's cabin open - it's lady Rose. She doesn't go out, her silhouette in the light cloud of laces and ribbons is barely visible in the darkness, yet strangely familiar and clear to me. The Captain doesn't let her leave the cabin when the people are close, he doesn't want to show them that they are in a beautiful woman's presence. I smile again. Ah, music is a blessed thing, an irresistible decoy to all creatures.  
  
"This one is about love too, mate," I say. "And about wine. And roses."  
  
'So many times I asked my gazelle for wine,  
  
And she offered me wine and roses as well,  
  
And I spent the night licking the wine from her lips  
  
And gathering roses from her cheeks.'  
  
I can see that not only the pirates and lady Rose is listening to me. The Captain is standing by the door, with his arms crossed as usual, with his eyes narrowed. He's looking somewhere else past me, apparently relaxed and thinking about something pleasant. Well, he's awaiting at least one nice week on St. Thomas, with lady Rose and all delights she can give him. He's happy and sated, as is she... I look slyly at her light blue dress. I knew I saw it somewhere: it's one of the dresses my dona Ursula was wearing.  
  
Oh no, no more nice songs in the nahawand mode and language that you can't understand.  
  
"Hey, Squall, let's try a more familiar tune. I'll teach you Andalusian music later."  
  
"Alright," says Squall blinking.  
  
"Do you know 'En la fuente del rosel'?"  
  
"The Spanish song?"  
  
"Aye, about a boy and a girl."  
  
Hah, it's a funny song, isn't it, Captain? A boy and a girl are washing in the rose bush, they are washing their faces in a very strange manner - 'el a ella y ella a el', he is washing hers and she his...  
  
The men around us are laughing and lady Rose turns her back to us. Oh well, I can sing another one, maybe that one about beautiful Isabel that lost her girdle, or that one about little sister Teresa. Pity there's no roses in that song.  
  
"Do you know this one, Squall?"  
  
'Ah, sweet sister Teresa, I'd like only to spend one night with you, just one night...' 'I'd be very pleased to spend one night with you, but I'm so much afraid of getting pregnant,' she says. But why can't her mother find little Teresa in the night?...  
  
The men roar with laughter, but the Captain is not very pleased. It seems that they just tried to find themselves something to do near the cabin only to hear us play. And the songs are a little bit too funny for the Captain's lady's liking... I hope.  
  
"What are ye all doin' here in this time of day, ye lazy dogs! There's no time to listen to the music! An' ye two, enough for today. Be off to work, now!"  
  
Squall is very interested in learning new things and is asking me many questions about Ottoman Empire and Spain, when we're as always scrubbing the deck. I'm answering in monosyllables, waiting for the night to come. I want to see the Captain and his lady, not only to hear them. I've managed to make a nice split in the wall with my knife, and I will watch them or my name isn't Ritchie Brown.  
  
But there comes the first blow. Sharpe tells me that things changed and it's Bleeding Hand, not me, who is to keep the watch tonight - Captain's orders. I don't protest. How could I? I don't say anything even when I hear that I'm not going to keep the watch in the next day either.  
  
And then, when we land on St. Thomas, comes the second blow. I am to stay on the ship. I'm not allowed to go anywhere; I have to help with the careening and then I am to keep the watch - every night. I'm not to place my feet on land except during the careening.  
  
I couldn't believe my own ears when Sharpe told me that. Some of us were already walking down the trap, and the beautiful port of Charlotte Amalie was calling us in thousands of voices - but Sharpe stopped me with his hand on my chest.  
  
"I'm not to go anywhere? I can't even spend my money? What's that, for Christ's sake?"  
  
"Christ or not, yer to stay onboard. Captain's orders."  
  
"But he didn't say..."  
  
Sharpe smiled with delight and looked at his hands big as shovels. He was in his best, devilishly genial mood today; were it a usual day at sea, I'd have new bruises already.  
  
"Ye see, Ritchie," he said, "the Captain doesn't need to communicate his will to ye. First, yer to listen to ev'rybody that's older than ye, even to Squall, ye know that. Second, it's me who's the second-in-command here. Understood? Or d'ye want me to explain it with me hands?"  
  
"No, 'tis no necessary," I said.  
  
"An' the Captain said that if ye really want to go ashore, ye may go. But don't come back."  
  
"Wh-what do you mean?"  
  
"What I said. Yer to listen to orders or yer free to go away, as long as we are on land. Simple."  
  
"Alright," I said. "I'm staying."  
  
What could I do? There is no place for me to go. It's true, I'm not a pirate yet, I could leave La Aranha now, when we're staying in the peaceful harbour. Most good folks would do this. I'm free, I haven't done anything that would make me an outlaw, there's no bounty on my head, nobody knows me here. I could try to go to work... go into service even. I can read and write, maybe I'd be of use. I could stay here, work, earn some money, live peacefully, find myself a girl, marry, have children and die a good death...  
  
I look upon the night sky, listening to the night noises of the harbour going slowly to sleep. It's warm and the island is breathing in a sweet, lazy breath. Many days have gone from the moment when Sharpe has stopped me, and I haven't been ashore, if not to count the careening. Do I really want to see this little sleepy town? I've been thinking about leaving La Aranha every day, but I know I cannot do this. I don't care a damn for a good work, good life, good family, less of all for a good death. It's not for me, I've never believed in things like this. I've always found good, decent folks much more stupid and vile than I thought. They have to move, pray, love and kill in flock, or they languish from anxiety that there is something wrong with them - and this is why they have to think in flock too. And this is why they are easy to prey.  
  
I'd rather be with the Captain than with good folks, how could have he thought that I'd prefer to stay among the flock? Who would follow the flock when he can follow the Captain? And I am already a part of the crew; the work is not so hard, I can learn how to fight, and if I'm lucky, I may gain some money too. And the Captain cannot be left alone, with nobody to talk to except all these plain fellows of his crew. I can write and read and play and sing, and some more things - I will prove myself useful anyway.  
  
For the remaining days on St. Thomas I am silent and obedient. I'm not seeing the Captain much, he spends most of his time on land, helping lady Rose to settle. He's returning to the ship very rarely and doesn't talk to me much. I don't start any conversation, I don't ask anything, I just do what I am told and wait. The Captain is not noticing me at all - because I just bring him food and clean his cabin silently, making myself as little noticeable as I can. I keep the night watches strictly, I work at day and when I'm free, I beguile the time teaching Squall to play drum in nahawand mode (Squall was granted three days on land, to my surprise). And I am patiently waiting for our stay to come to an end.  
  
The day before leaving the Captain is already on the ship from the afternoon, and I'm to keep the middle watch, from the midnight to four in the morning. It was the same yesterday, I've got accustomed to night watches and I no longer have to fight sleepiness. I lean on the handrails, looking at the town that I have to leave before visiting. I wonder if I can see it again. I will remember only the strange smell of the port, the smell of jasmine, fresh wood and dead fish; and the blessed taste of fruits I've never eaten before - papaya, guava, the wonderful sugar apple, then bananas and pineapples, and my favourite fruit called summer mango that has something of both banana and pineapple with the touch of apricot in it. I've eaten the tannia root soup and a funny fried bread called Johnny-cakes, and a very good pastry filled with saltfish, and I've had something that tastes like beer with soap and is called 'maubi', but it's fruits I'll remember most fondly... now where I know that there will be nothing to eat but scanty rations of salted meat, hard-tack and occassionally fish, I start to feel something like regret. The place seems a paradise on earth. I could find myself a nice nest here to live.   
  
When we were resting during the careening of the ship, I saw a very strange little creature - it looked like a dragon that hunts after virgins and kills brave knights, only that it was rather tiny - and Squall told me it's called 'iguana' and loves to eat those red hibiscus flowers. I went to find the flowers and lo, the creature wasn't afraid to come to me and eat from my hand. If it is so trustful, it means that really peaceful folks live here; it may be easier to live here than I suppose. And maybe I should stay here - maybe I should leave these stupid 'brothers' of mine, who started to whisper something about devil again when they saw me feeding the poor creature with beautiful hibiscus flowers. Maybe I should stay. The Captain doesn't care for me anyway.  
  
I look at the cabin's closed door. Why didn't he order me to stay there tonight? We're leaving in the morning, I should be in the cabin when he needs me. Did he forget that I'm his cabin boy? Or does he want to be alone this last night in the St. Thomas? I wonder what he is doing at this time of the night - the candles in his cabin are still lit. It's dangerous. He was so busy today, supervising the men who were stocking the ship with food and water supplies; maybe he fell asleep at the table. I'd better take a look if everything is alright.  
  
But before I grab the door knob, I hear a soft whimper. It's not the Captain's voice. It's lady Rose's. Do I have hallucinations? I didn't see lady Rose today. How is it possible that she is onboard?  
  
I find the split in the wall I had made before. No, it was not an illusion. In the middle of the dimly lit cabin, on the Captain's bed, sits lady Rose, so vivid and shining in the bright satin dress, with the laced mantilla that was obviously hiding her head, but now is covering her arms. She sits with her back to me, but I can tell that it's her voice I've just heard; she is crying, crying against her will.  
  
I've never seen her other than smilling, laughing or furious, and now I feel as if the world were going to end. What happened? Why is she so unhappy and miserable that she must resort to crying? A quarrel? Or does the Captain want to leave her? No, it would be too hideous and cruel to desert her like that, just after all that fear she must have felt when she was made to flee Antigua. She needs solace and comfort now...  
  
Oh, but she is finding solace and comfort here - her face is now taken in two strong hands, and her whimpers become muffled in the Captain's generous embrace. I nearly chuckle now, because it seems that she is sitting on his lap, and he had to move her away so that he could sit too. He's ruffling her golden hair with a forbearing smile, as he would do to a child - and she looks like a little girl in his embrace. It's the first time when I see them in each other's arms, and only now I realize that lady Rose is much more younger than the Captain. She can be twenty-four or twenty-five, and the Captain is probably ten years older. She always looked equally noble and calm when with him, and it's why I thought her to be of the same age - but now when I see her in sadness and despair, I understand how fragile and vulnerable she is.  
  
Finally she stops sobbing and whispers something in a small voice.  
  
"Aye, lil' lady, and sorry ye should be," says the Captain. "Bad habits ye have an' ye do nothin' to get rid of 'em. Yer havin' forebodin' of evil every time I leave, an' yer bein' proved wrong every time I go back. Will ye grow up till next time?"  
  
"I can't promise," she protests a little bit defiantly. "How could I not worry about you when I know what you risk?"  
  
"I risk nothin'."  
  
"You risk your life, Captain, the only thing that is yours and that I want to make mine forever. You are risking your neck every day I am not with you! You are like a little boy when his mommy isn't watching..."  
  
He bursts into laughter.  
  
"Aye, I do resemble a lil' boy when I'm with ye. It's not good, not at all. I have to go to sea for awhile, just to remind myself that I'm a man."  
  
"I don't need gifts, I don't need money, I don't need clothes and dresses and jewels, I don't need anything..."  
  
"Ye don't?..."  
  
"Oh well... not so much!..." she laughs. "Don't let my greed dim your reason. Don't attack bigger vessels because you want to give me more. Don't... oh no, I can't think..."  
  
She shakes her head. He places his hands on her tiny shoulders.  
  
"Rose," he whispers, "Rose, look at me."  
  
She becomes quiet, he touches her cheek.  
  
"Yer not allowed to doubt in me. I need ye laughin' into the face of the world and thinkin' that I'm laughin' with ye. I'm comin' back every time an' I will come back now. There's nothin' that would stop me in me way to ye. Be I cursed, be I damned - I will always find me way to ye."  
  
She slowly, as in a dream, reaches out her hand and touches his cheek in reply; then she touches his lips, and even more slowly draws herself closer - now she's blocking out my view and I can't see the Captain's face; but I can see his hands that embrace her head and start pulling out her hairpins. Lady Rose doesn't wait, she wriggles her way out of the dress, tearing ribbons and murmuring a little 'damn' from time to time.  
  
Something very reasonable inside of me tells me that I should go away; it tells me that I should be jealous. But I shake my head and stay - my admiration for these two is much more greater than my little poor hurt feelings. I want to see them together, in fact, I want to see the Captain's face when he is coming again - it was only once I could see him like that. And for I know all too well that he will never be with me as he is now with lady Rose, I want at least see what I am missing.  
  
The dress is so complicated to take off that lady Rose had to abandon her intention of undressing, at least for awhile; she's clinging to the Captain half-naked, with her pearly white shoulders wrapped around him. He's kissing her breasts and hands and elbows and neck and arms, he cannot tear himself away, and she is trembling a soft constant tremble. The candles around the cabin shrink, but lady Rose seems to gather all their lights into her; her golden head glitters, her lustrous dress shines, and she starts to laugh quietly, when he bows over to take her little right foot in his hand to place her long leg in a white silk stocking around his waist.  
  
"No, wait," she says. "I want to be free."  
  
And she stands on the bed between his legs, so that the folds of the dress cover Captain's chests and hands. He doesn't want to let her go, so he reaches out and holds her hips under the dress. She shakes her head again, laughing, and the hairpins that were still left in her hair fall out on the cabin's wooden floor. Lady Rose is fighting with the dress and finally she takes over; she steps out of it and kicks it out of the bed. I hold my breath: she is naked, without any underwear. It's been awhile since I've seen a naked woman, and her skin is so clean and glossy that it blinds me for a moment. And the Captain looks like he is blinded too; he narrows his eyes with a smile. Lady Rose stands on one leg and takes one stocking off, then another - and then she starts to lower herself down. I blink: I was so enchanted by her that I didn't notice that the Captain was half-naked from the beginning. Oh, and not only half-naked he was - he was ready all the time also.  
  
He rises up a little to look at her, maybe to guide her, but she takes his hands and places them in her hips again, embracing his hips with her thights in turn, and leaning over so that she can touch his lips with hers, she starts to move. Slowly, patiently she finds her rhythm on him, and then she abruptly straightens her bright, lean body up, gaining speed as if she wanted to fly away and only his hands on her thights were stopping her. He is holding her firmly, pressing her legs and buttocks to him and diving deeper and deeper into her. She bows her head from time to time to place a haste, light kiss on his forehead or cheek or lips, and straightens up again, with the flowing mane over and around her fierce head - and they look like a ship in full speed, sailing towards a dark ocean with a defiantly glittering golden sail.  
  
She is moaning with that soft deep voice of hers, and the Captain rises up towards her again and embraces her greedily, taking her wild head into the warm crook of his arm, and she cries helplessly leaning herself suddenly on him. He is holding and rocking her proudly, stroking her wet, shuddering back. She embraces his shoulders in reply and they are sitting motionlessly for a long, long while, until she finally rises up and lets him go.   
  
But then she suddenly whispers:  
  
"Oh, love, love, why did you let me come?"  
  
"'Tis nothin', lil' lady. Let's go to sleep."  
  
"Oh no, love, this is not right! How can I leave you like this? You make me flying with delight and you are denying yourself pleasure?"  
  
"Who told ye I'm denyin' myself anything, silly? It's because I'm lookin' at ye, an' I'm goin' to look at ye even when ye sleep tonight."  
  
He sits up, but she kneels by his side and pulls him closer, holding his hand. I cannot see him...  
  
"I will not have it, Captain, I'm not going to leave you unsatisfied."  
  
"Yer not leavin' me unsatisfied. 'Tis not necessary for me to be satisfied, my lil' lady. I'm not a small boy that must spill his seed to be happy. Lie down, please."  
  
She stops him again.  
  
"Let me," she says simply, wrapping her delicate hands around his hips and lowering her head.  
  
I feel my eyes widen and my breath hold. I would never think of lady Rose's sweet red lips touching the Captain's erect cock. I have never seen a woman doing this to a man. I've heard that it's popular among the French, but well, there are so many things that people say about French love and I don't believe them a bit since I've met French girls more than once. I've met English, Spanish and Italian girls as well, and it's impossible to buy that favour from them for a reasonable amount of money. No unfortunate, even the low of the lowest, would take a cock into her mouth so lightly and casually as lady Rose is going to do. Many men may have a fancy to make their lover do that for them, but no self-respecting woman would gratify that fancy. And I can see that the Captain is surprised even more than me - surprised and moved so deeply that he cannot accept it.  
  
"Rose, my treasure," he says raising her up, "no, I won't have it now."  
  
"Please."  
  
"No, I want it, but not here," he says, his tender look on her blushing face. "For this night, yer generosity is enough for me. We do not need to hurry. We have more nights before us than ye think, impatient lil' lady. Or ye don't believe I will be back to ye?"  
  
"Oh, n-no..."  
  
"Good. I will be back faster than ye can imagine, just to have this gift from ye. Ye keep it for me. An' now go to sleep."  
  
His eyes - they are blue, I think now, not green - are fixed on her and it's clear that her eagerness stirred some hidden feelings in him. It's hard, very hard to him to restrain himself, and if she insisted, he wouldn't have much more to say. But I can see that it cost her dearly to offer it to him, and her little ears redden wildly, even her neck and arms are deep pink. She doesn't say anything, just clings to him, and he embraces her in silence, and with this sight before my eyes - his long fingers on her bare back, glittering with sweat - I leave my watching place; it's time that Paco should take his post from me.  
  
I cannot sleep, I stay with him instead of going under the deck. It's dawn already, the harbour is awake and the sea breeze freshens my feverish face. Wherever I look - the greenish sea, the rosy sky, the white and red buildings of Charlotte Amalie - I see my Captain and his lady making love. Ah, I want to be here when lady Rose leaves the ship. I want to see her stay ashore when we turn her little town to our rudder. I want to be sure that she won't hide somewhere in the cabin again.  
  
She comes out, finally. It seems that she came when Squall was on watch, because she smiles to him, and he answers with a broad happy smile - he must have get a gold coin from her again. She says farewell to some of us - the rest is busying themselves with the last preparations for leaving - looks at me briefly, I lower modestly my eyes - then takes Captain's hand and lets him lead her ashore, where Betsy and the cook are waiting for her already. The Captain kisses her hand ceremoniously, she curtseys. No tears, no despair. Her face is clear and calm, only a little bit paler and thinned. She left all her fears and sorrows away, now she is herself, the brave lady Rose, again. And I sigh with a strange feeling of relief. She should be always like this, or the Captain might give up his trade for her someday.  
  
"Hey, Ritchie, what are ye doin', man?" shouts Pete-Smallpox. "Run to the galleys fer the Captain's breakfast! An' watch out fer yerself today, alright?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Ah, don't be dumb, mate. Poor old devil will be out o'sorts all day. He's just left his lady, mind. Keep a low profile, it's me good advice to ye."  
  
But I don't care for his good advices. I can be alone with the Captain at last and it makes me dizzy with joy. I'm not afraid of him; if he wants to find vent for his irritation, well, here I am. He will need me anyway, some day or other.  
  
But he's busy with his charts and just orders me grudgingly to leave tray under the window and be off.  
  
"Should I clean the cabin, Captain?" I ask innocently, looking at lady Rose's hairpins scattered on the floor.  
  
"I told ye to be off!" he shouts.  
  
"Oh God, aye, Captain," I murmur and run away.  
  
And it happens that I'm running to and fro all day round, because even Sharpe is not very willing to go to the Captain's cabin to ask for orders, and he prefers to send me instead. Generally, everybody is relieved to see that I'm still in one piece when emerging from the cabin. But at last I start to doubt my luck when the Captain yells at me that I should be fed to the sharks for not cleaning the cabin.  
  
"But Captain, it's you who told me that I'm to leave it like this... I'm innocent, I swear!..."  
  
"Ye weren't innocent even in yer mother's womb, ye lazy brat!... Yer to shut up an' listen, not to talk back, or ye'll be keepin' watch all night!"  
  
"Aha, he's got crossed finally," says Squall with a wicked smile, when I fly out of the cabin.  
  
"No reason to grin, stupid," I say wincing. "Go and try to please him yourself. It's like he's eaten only pepper today or something."  
  
"Shhh, shut up, ye idiot," says Squall and runs away from the cabin door. Sure, now everybody is leaving me with this demon of a captain.  
  
But when I have a free moment, I just stay by the railing and look at the sea. It's strange how it calms me and gives me a feeling of certainty that everything is as it's meant to be. I've never had feeling like this before, I don't know the sea, I don't know where I am or where I am going, I don't have an aim, I've almost forgotten my past and I don't care for my future; could I say that I am happy?  
  
And when the evening comes, I bring the Captain his meal and wait with my heart beating wildly for his orders. It's been a long time since he told me to sleep here, I almost can't remember it. I'm leaning on the door, not sure what to do.  
  
"What are ye lookin' at?" the Captain asks me. "Don't tell me yer hungry again."  
  
"No, I'm not, Captain."  
  
"So where's yer blanket, stupid? Forgot that yer workin' here, or got tired of yer service already? Jus' tell me in case ye changed yer mind. If I have ye thrown overboard, ye still might reach the shore pretty quickly."  
  
"No, I'm going for the blanket right now," I say quietly, trying to hide my joy.  
  
When I'm back, he tells me to make the bed and clean the table, leaving only the bottle of wine. Ah, he's feeling lonely, he's so lonely that he's going to drink alone. I feel my heart bleed for him. Again a long journey among the dirty gobs talking in hoarse voices, helpless without him and fearing him; and again, danger is all that awaits him. He promised his lady to be back, but he has another lady by his side, and I know her, because I have my own too - Lady Death is her name.  
  
"Can I pour you more wine, Captain?"  
  
He moves his bowl closer without a word. He pretends that he is just finishing his supper, but his severe, tired face and his distant gaze tell me otherwise. Ah, what can I do for you, Captain? If you order me to drink with you, I will, but you would not do this, because I'm not your equal. If you want me to play or sing something for you, I will, but you don't care for it. If you want me to tell you some funny stories from my funny life, I will, but you care for my life even less. If you want me in your bed, I will gladly do as told, but you think of your lady and you don't notice me. Or is it me who should take the first step?...  
  
"What the hell are ye doin', ye lil' screw-up?!"  
  
I've spilled the wine.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry, Captain," I exclaim and fall on my knees before him. "I'm so sorry, I'll clean it this moment."  
  
I've spilled the wine all over him.  
  
"I wonder how ye managed to serve as a maid for as long as one hour."  
  
I've spilled the wine mostly over his breeches.  
  
"I might be a better maid than a cabin boy, it's true, Captain," I say with my hands on his knees, "but I will learn, I promise." And I spread his legs apart - but before I manage to touch his crotch, he snatches the cloth from my hand.  
  
"Enough," he says, "go clean the table."  
  
"No, Captain," I say shoving away his hands gently, but resolutely. "No, I won't..."  
  
"Wh..."  
  
"Shhh, please," I whisper unfastening his belt with my hands that are trembling just so slightly. I've never done this before. I haven't even seen anybody doing it, for that matter.  
  
The Captain is surprisingly silent and I raise my head in fear. He is watching me with a strange expression - I don't know what it is, bewilderment? Shock? Curiosity? Whatever, I cannot let him wake up from it, because it seems that he's going to let me what I want to do. I'd rather not to look at him, maybe he'd like to imagine that it's his lady offering her gift to him and not me...  
  
When I unbutton his breeches and take him in my hand, he makes one more effort to push me away, but I'm clinging to him firmly. I feel heat on my face.  
  
"Please, Captain, do let me," I say pleadingly with my mouth just an inch from his cock. I can tell that he likes the sight - he draws his breath - and I feel him harden even more. He wants me to do it. I smile and take him into my mouth.  
  
I knew that he's big, but I've never imagined that it's so difficult to work over all this length. I'm trying my best keeping my teeth away from the hard silken hotness, but I know I'm not very skillful, and when I hear him calling my name, I raise my eyes in fear.  
  
He's looking at me. I ask him with my eyes if there's anything that he wants, but I quickly realize that no, it's all. He wants me to look at him too. I almost forget to continue under this attentive, thoughtful look, until he urges me gently with his hand on my neck. I blink and get back to my endeavours again. And he slowly inserts his fingers into my hair, making me look at him all the time. It's the first unnecessary tender touch that I get from him, and it makes me melt. And it's me that he wants to watch with his face blushed and mouth panting, and slightly widened, bright eyes - it's me, not some image of his beloved lady or any other girl doing it to him. I'm half-conscious fighting my own desire; I'd like to touch myself, but I can't believe he lets me touch him like this, and I'm clinging to him with both my hands, afraid to lose it. He has to see all this madness and greed in my eyes, because all of a sudden he strengthtens his grip in my hair and I have my mouth full before I can understand what happened. Awww, I've forgotten about this one little thing!... What should I do with it now?  
  
I pull away a little, but I don't want to go anywhere, I remain just like I was, kneeling before him; only that I'm not able to look at him from shame, and press my forehead to his knees.  
  
He takes me lightly by my shoulders and makes me raise my head. I cast my eyes to the floor; he starts to laugh, loudly and wholeheartedly.  
  
"Ah, Ritchie," he says, "ye impudent, brazen, shameless... Now look at me an' tell me, what did ye do with all the load?"  
  
"Nothing," I murmur feeling rather miserably.  
  
"Swallowed it all?" He chuckles again. "Wait a little."  
  
I'm still sitting on the floor when he gives me his bowl with wine.  
  
"Here," he says. "Drink. 'Tis nothin' delicious, I can imagine."  
  
"Um... thank you," I say, still unable to look directly at him.  
  
"Now, now, no need to be so shy. How many times have ye done this?"  
  
"Not even once," I say blushing again.  
  
He frowns with disbelief.  
  
"Yer first? M'God, yer talented then."  
  
"It's not a lie," I say almost with tears in my eyes. "It's been a long time since I lied to you last time, Captain."  
  
"Alright, alright, I believe ye," he says patting me on the head. "Ritchie Brown bein' a virgin, though... doesn't sound like truth to me."  
  
I sigh. If not my easy virtue, he'd have a lonely time with his own hand now.  
  
"Um, Captain..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Can I have some more?"  
  
"Ah, sure ye can. Only don't expect me to pour it for ye again."  
  
I'm drinking wine slowly, looking at him; he's watching me with his gaze suddenly distant as before.  
  
"Sit down," he says finally.  
  
I sit.  
  
"Why didn't ye stay on St. Thomas?"  
  
"Why... did you want me to stay?" I feel my heart beating harder again.  
  
He sighs.  
  
"I expected ye to stay."  
  
I stop drinking; the wine tastes bitter.  
  
"Ye saw that we're safe in English and French harbours. But it's not a safe trade, Ritchie. We're goin' to fight an' be fought, to kill an' be killed. Ye don't know this life. It'd be better for ye not to try it."  
  
"But Captain, I've tried it already!..."  
  
"No, ye haven't. Nobody knows yer here. Ye could start a new life on St. Thomas. Why didn't ye stay?"  
  
I take a deep breath.  
  
"I don't know," I say innocently, lowering my eyes. "Maybe it was too small for me."  
  
He laughs briefly; I can see he's not very amused.  
  
"Once ye've been in a fight, Ritchie, ye cannot go back. An' if ye stay an' sail with us, ye're goin' to get remembered. An' if ye get remembered, ye may hang someday."  
  
"I don't care," I say cheerfully.  
  
"Ah, I can say ye don't care. I knew it the moment I saw ye. But in this trade only death is sure enough to be counted on. It's not easy to avoid death when yer goin' on account."  
  
"Captain," I say quietly, "if you don't want me on your ship, why don't you kill me? I, for my poor part, want to stay."  
  
He smiles, narrowing his eyes.  
  
"Good," he says. "No more sermons wasted on a young jailbird, then. Clean the table an' go to sleep."  
  
"Um, Captain..."  
  
"What d'ye want this time? Ye've drunk all the wine."  
  
"N-no, it's not the wine..."  
  
"If it's not the wine, shut the hell up an' go to sleep. I will tell ye when I need ye, understood?"  
  
"Aye, Captain," I say patiently. "Perfectly."  
  
I sigh to myself, making my blanket more comfortable for the night. La Aranha is slowly rocking me asleep, and I hear the Captain breathing peacefully in the dark. Ah, I cannot believe what I have just done. He accepted my gift, but I know that it's because he feels that he can treat me with the gloves off. He still doesn't care about me, he neither loves me nor respects me; I understand it. I just need more time to be able to get what I want. 


End file.
